


The Four Past Lives of Sara Rubin

by thefandomlife



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: A lot of french terms of endearment, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Vikings, Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Aristocracy, Aristocratic France, Aristocratic families are shitty, Arranged Marriage, Assisted Suicide, Aunt Euphemia is the shit, Bombing, Bombs, Character Death In Dream, Death, Depression, Drowning, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, England 1500s, Eugene is fabulous and gay, F/M, Fear of Drowning, Fear of males, Guillotine, Gunshot Wounds, Hawaiian Character, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Male distrust, Mentions of Blood, Mentions of Rape, Multi, Multiple Endings, Multiple Selves, Muslim Character, Nurses, Past Sexual Abuse, Pearl Harbor - Freeform, Pre-War, Psychic Abilities, Psychological Horror, Psychological Trauma, Racist Language, Red Cross, References to Depression, Reincarnation, Ryan Bergara Loves Shane Madej, Ryan Bergara loves Sara Rubin, Ryan is A Softie, Secret Relationship, Servants, Sexist Language, Shane Madej In Love, Shane Madej Loves Ryan Bergara, Shane Madej loves Sara Rubin, Skeptic Shane Madej, Suicide, The Other One, Vikings, War Nurses, Weird, Witch Trials, Witches, Zach totally is crushing on him, cute soldier boys, death by guillotine, definitely not fuck, distrust of males, everyone thinks she's a demon baby!, hopelessness, magical child, mentions of demons - Freeform, more fire deaths, multiple reincarnations, muslim bashing, old timey names for penises and vaginas, parents killed in a fire, potions and healing spells, servant boys being friends with rich girls, she's aware of her past life and don't give two shits, the cute gay trio, the dreaded f word, there are too many hashtags rip, these three will be the death of me i swear, witches death trial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2019-03-30 19:19:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 32,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13958280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefandomlife/pseuds/thefandomlife
Summary: Life has a horrible sense of humor in the creation of Sara Rubin





	1. Ronnat

**Author's Note:**

> Hey BFU fandom, this is my first ever work with these characters and I went all out. So I read a Shane/Ryan fic based off this idea with reincarnation. It was soooo good, you can check it out here https://archiveofourown.org/works/11962821?view_adult=true
> 
> So the Shane/Sara/Ryan tag doesn't have any fics basically, so I felt the need to change that....with three days worth of 31k words worth of angst, death, and an eventual happy ending! This fic has taken up literally every living moment of these past few days, please take whatever this jumbled mess is and appreciate it !! No but really, enjoy, I had a lot of fun writing about Sara since there's hardly anything written about her.
> 
> The point of view is in Sara's, so she is the main female characters (that being Ronnat (pronounced Ro-nit), Margaret, Perrette (pronounced Pair-reet), and Kathryn). Shane's characters are basically every guy described as blonde (Rolf, William, Charles, and Howard). Ryan's characters are Olivier (pronounced Oli-viay) and Henry.
> 
> If you are triggered by death, mentions of rape, sexist language, homophobic langauge, degrading language in any kind, blood and gore, violence, depression and hopelessness, suicide, drowning, fire, and knives then I would assure you to leave since there's a lot of that here....yeah history isn't too kind on anybody besides perfectly sane white men....
> 
> Anyways, I hope you all enjoy!

She was born into this world on a warm summer's day in the early 8th century. Her mother, Ita, was a frail woman with straw blonde hair and a nervous smile. Her father, Conall, was a burly man who barely spoke to her, only to quit her crying and for keeping Ita awake into the early hours of the mornings. She was born as Ronnat, a strong name for how unnaturally resilient she was in her adolescence. It had been a miracle that Ita could even bear a child, Ronnat heard her father’s constant stories and remarks of how Ita must be a witch for how she survived such a feat.

Ronnat loved the sea where she was born in Dublin, she loved watching the tide come in and sweep over the rocks; pulling the loose pebbles and sand in with it’s strong grasp. Living so close to the dangerous shores proved to show how merciless the ocean could be and who’s souls it so unfortunately took. Ronnat’s close friend, Lassi, was pulled under as they had been digging for sea shells to bring to their mothers to make into necklaces. Ronnat’s screams for help were drowned out by the roar of the sea as Lassi was pulled out into the dark depths.

She grew up to be strong, Lassi’s death was a stark reminder of the horror she had to survive through. Her father was a constant reminder of the dangers life had to bring. He would come home covered in marks and cuts from hunts, sometimes bleeding all over her mother’s wooden table, telling Ronnat tales of boars and other beasts and how she could be killed with one final blow to the head.

“Don’t ye be tellin’ my daughter those tales, Conall!” Ita shrieked, her hands shaking as she tried to pour whiskey on a rag to dab at her husband’s bicep.

“Ye thick whore! She’s cursed with a fanny between the legs! Me own skills might just help keep her alive! She’s no scrawny, chicken whore like you,” he spat at her, making Ita shriek again, “so she could be a miracle child.”

Her father’s words were rough and sharp around the edges, but at the mere edge of six Ronnat knew how to decipher them and learn that she was to live a life of proving to her father, and any man that crossed her path, that she was made of more than just pretty curves and a waiting fanny for some prick to enter whenever he felt the need to release himself. She had seen how her father treated Ita and how he roughly tugged and pulled her hair and wrists, tugging her skirts up when they thought she was asleep and bending the frail woman over the weak table.

Ronnat knew she was made for more than just being a plaything or some necessity for a man to marry and bear him children. Maybe she should have been born with a prick, big and long enough to give a better chance at bearing children. Maybe she could make her father proud at how her body could bear muscles like his and go help defend the city against the threat of Vikings. Maybe she wouldn’t just be some dumb object for her father to sell off or worry over a Viking breaking into their hut to rape her and steal the little gold they had.

But she was born with a woman’s body, a wet clit between her legs, and beautiful curves that were easy to be grabbed by unwanted manly hands. So Ronnat did what she could with her given circumstances, she joined her father in his morning hunts. At first he shooed her away, but she didn’t leave, even when he slapped her across the face and yelled, spittle getting all over her chubby baby faced cheeks. She still scowled up at her father, a mere child at age nine, and stood her ground.

She showed herself in carrying his axes in her frail arms, not once complaining of the weight and how her back ached. Her father soon came to appreciate her help, even going so far as to admiring how she stayed quiet and took note of how he could approach game and slay the unknowing animals. She didn’t flinch at the sight of blood, she had seen one of the village ladies giving birth and had gotten over her disgust at bodily fluids and the gore of it early on.

Her father finally allowed her a knife, showing her how to wield it. She practiced on hunting squirrels and rabbits, creeping up on them and pouncing, cleanly slicing their throats before they could get a squeak out. To say that Conall was impressed was an understatement, even though he was angry with his daughters girlish holdbacks.

“Teach me to fight.” She blurted out at the dinner table one evening, her eyes burning from trying to divert her attention from her father’s abuse of her mother.

Conall laughed loudly, almost breaking his chair in the process, slamming his ale down on the wooden table with a loud smack, the bitter liquid sloshing over the sides and getting on Ronnat’s cooked rabbit, her first meal she had brought back home.

“You should be cooking with yer whore of a mum, pipsqueak.” He roared with laughter.

“I am not going to be her.” She snarled, angry that her father wasn’t taking her seriously.

Conall finally relented and stared at his daughter. He was slightly buzzed from his ale, but serious enough to actually think about the wonders of his firstborn.

“If I am going to teach ye anythin’,” he slurred, “ye need to grow some meat on those weak little bones of ye’s.”

She took a huge bite of her rabbit, staring her father dead in the eye as she did so, not even bothering about the juices covering her chin.

“Already on it.”

Everyone in Dublin knew that Conall was a respected man in the village by the sea. He was vicious and fierce, able to spear a boar in one steady blow. So it was an oddity for sure to see the man with his curly haired, brunette daughter in tow along many of his hunts. She had cut her hair to hang over her shoulders (she noted that her hair was getting more red and that disgusted her, because her mother had been a strawberry blonde)  and she tied it back with a burlap strap, never wearing skirts that would trip her up, but breeches made especially for her by the seamstress on orders of her father. The boys in the village learned to not tease and shout insults and slurs at her when she would spar with the bakers son, Segan. Segan was tall and burly, and by the time that Ronnat and him were twelve years young she could beat him easily with blunt spears.

The girls never talked to her, afraid that she was bewitched into becoming a boy and now had a prick hanging between her thighs, and the boys didn’t take her seriously. She didn’t belong anywhere, but that didn’t matter to Ronnat because she wasn’t going to be underestimated.

Her mother died that year trying to give birth to a son to appease her husbands wishes and insults. The baby boy died with her, and Conall firmly believed he was cursed in some sort. But he also believed he was blessed with a daughter who could beat any man she came across. She was a being of any other, and deep down in his knotted heart he admired her strength and vehemence to not be the weak bitch her mother was.

Ronnat wasn’t entirely fazed by her mother’s death, but she did mourn her brothers death. She had wanted to raise her brother to be strong like her and to show him that there were women out there that would not be some plaything for him. She wanted to teach him so much, to not fall for the frail and weak women who played along with the stupid mindgame of being the perfect housewife for him, but instead to find himself a strong girl who could beat him in a fight.

When Ronnat was fourteen, the Viking attacks were getting closer to their shores. Conall didn’t want to marry his daughter off, but he knew that the Vikings would come at any time.

“I am _not_ marrying Fergus!” Ronnat screamed as she threw her axe at the practice dummy built in the family barn.

“You’ll give us gold, you damn girl! Don’t you see? The Vikings get closer, you should get off with this fancy boy and give us a life while we still have it!” Conall thundered.

Ronnat was forced into dresses, the rumors of a prick between her legs grew in various degree and a game ensued around the town to see which guy could lift her dresses to check and see. But the bets were put to a sudden stop when Ultan was decked in the face as he came from behind her. Her wedding to Fergus Walsh was set and in stone, even though by night Ronnat would practice swords play with her father in their barn, if in the case of a Viking attack.

But right on the eve of their wedding night of that year, 831, Vikings attacked the shores of Dublin. Conall was called out in the middle of the night to join the front forces, forcing Ronnat to stay behind and defend the house and their gold. She had screamed at him, but stayed despite her growing rage. She grasped her sword tightly, wincing every time she heard a woman’s screams, knowing they were either being bludgeoned to death or bent over any available surface and fucked relentlessly. The mere thought made her squirm and clench her thighs.

She finally heard the sounds of gruff voices approaching her hut and she stood up, sword in hand and ready to fight. The door was kicked open and a large man jumped inside. Ronnat screamed and plunged her sword into the man’s stomach. He yelled, guttural and choking, as his friends jumped to his aide. Two more men, one of them tall and broad chested, the other shorter and fatter but with enough meat on his bones to produce muscle, and a tall woman. The woman surprised Ronnat, all decked out in a fur cloak and trousers and boots, with a large axe in hand.

The shorter man had jumped forward and started swinging his axe at her, so she held her sword up in defence. She had practiced so many times with her father, at his large height, so she was ready and prepared for this shorter man. In no time at all, Ronnat had her feet moving in the way her father had taught her and she was no longer in the defence, clashing her sword heavily against the Viking. He let out a cry as her sword met his shoulder by impact and the woman stepped forward, pulling him away and stepping in between her sword and his axe.

“Enough, young lady.” She grunted.

“I’m no lady.” Ronnat said through gritted teeth.

The woman grinned, a frightening look by any other person, but to Ronnat it was somewhat welcoming.

“Good, we will spare you and you can join us.”

“You will allow me my life that easily? On what accounts?” Ronnat asked.

“You just beat one of our men in a duel. We never lose, lady.” The blonde man spoke from the back.

Ronnat’s attention was drawn to him and as their eyes met, something sparked with life in her chest. It was his eyes that drew her in, that made her heart grow twice in size and her skin spark. He had deep brown eyes, but they had a spark in them that had a sense of life in them, just like the grin growing on his bearded face. He was a dark blonde, his facial hair not as long and gangly as the other rumored vikings, but just as bushy as her own fathers.

“What of my father? He must be dead by now.” She spoke, her voice cracking just slightly, which caused her to flinch at her weakness.

“Mayhaps,” the woman grunted. “But if he is alive we shall spare him as long as he spares our men.”

Conall was alive, being held prisoner in the town front. He felt a rush of relief to see his daughter alive, but also a sense of admiration to see that her dignity seemed to be in tact and she wasn’t being escorted as a prisoner.

“This be your father, lady?” A gruff woman spoke as they approached.

Ronnat nodded her head, looking her father in the eye.

“You swore to not hurt him. Now let him go.” Ronnat ordered.

The blonde man nodded his head and waved his hand to one of the other vikings guarding the prisoners. They untied Conall and took his sword and any other weapon of use.

“What of my daughter you beasts?!” He cried as he watched them shove Ronnat towards the boats.

“She will become a fierce warrior,” the woman who spoke earlier said, nodding her head at him in respect. “You have trained her well. We will not harm her.”

And they kept their promise. The vikings proved to be a rough crowd, yelling, cursing, punching, and shouting all the time. But what Ronnat grew to know on the ship that was now her home, was that she was not seen as a plaything. At first, some of the men had stared at her, talked and guffawed in her presence, but the woman she had met, Brynhild, made an announcement.

“Since I am unmarried and without children, I am taking this young lady in as my child! She is no Thrall to be pushed and shoved aside! She will be treated as one of us!”

They took their boat back to to their homeland up north, where the mountains touched the horizon with their peaks and the land was fresh and green with life. Brynhild took her in, giving her proper clothes and a room for her own. She taught Ronnat the way that Vikings lived, how she could do as she pleased and own what land she inherited when Brynhild died, since she was now known as her daughter.

Ronnat grew to love the new life she was given. It was such a stark difference than what she had grown up with in Dublin. She had admired her father, never actually loving the harsh man, but she now lived in a place where she was actually respected by men like him. She wasn’t forced into a skirt for the fanny between her thighs, but was shown how to better wield an axe and how to put more muscle on her frail womanly body.

But what she grew to love was that she wasn’t forced to marry. She didn’t have a father to force her into an arranged marriage, so she didn’t have to face any sutors. And if she so desired to be with someone, she could have the option of leaving the marriage if she so liked. She could even have children with a man and not commit herself to him through marriage if she pleased. It was the life that had been destined for her, she was sure of it.

The blonde man had come along with them to their homeland, introducing himself as Rolf Hastain, a young man with a pretty wife. Her name was Hilge and she was wonderfully bright and witty, becoming a close friend of Ronnat despite her grievances of the woman. Rolf was a tall man, broad chested, but had the kindest smile she had laid her eyes on. It bewildered her that a burly man could have a smile that soft around the edges and a fond love for his horses and his baby girl at home.

It opened something inside of Ronnat’s chest that she had never known had been there; a deep longing and yearning for a man to be that kind and loving to her. She was jealous, yes, of the couple but she couldn’t be angry. She admired the way that Rolf kept his manhood, carried his axe around, and fought valiantly, yet he was gentle and soft with his wife and child and towards any other woman he came across.

Rolf wasn’t the only nice man amongst the vikings, no there were many young bachelors who treated Ronnat with respect on the practice fields and in passing of the village. As she grew older and the years passed, her young and girly body grew more into a woman’s. Her breasts grew in and filled, she grew hair down over her clit and under her pits, but her face lost the baby fat that made her innocent and young and sharpened her cheekbones and chin and defined her deep green eyes. Her hair even got a little more red in the roots like the irishman in her blood.

But as she grew into her womanhood, she found that none of the suitors around her just didn’t pull her in like Rolf had that very first day. It was a feeling that overwhelmed her chest and her brain, making her confused and irritated with herself. She couldn’t imagine herself being that soft and vulnerable like how Hilge and Rolf were with anyone else but Rolf himself. So by the time that Ronnat reached twenty, she told Brynhild that she didn’t want to marry anyone.

“And why, must I ask?” Brynhild asked as they sat around their fire, eating their dinner of scallops and boar meat.

“I can’t explain.” Ronnat said, scrunching her brow in anger at her mixed feelings stirring in her soul.

“Try, I will wait and listen to whatever troubles your soul.”

Ronnat smiled despite her inner battle, she admired that Brynhild was patient, unlike her old father and his sudden bursts of anger.

“I never experienced “love”,” she scoffed at the mere word, “I never saw it in my parent’s marriage and how my father bent my frail, weak mother over our kitchen table and demanded a son. I was mocked and teased for wearing trousers and bearing an axe as a girl by the boys, the girls used to tell tales that I had a prick under my skirts.”

She paused and played with the fabric of her trousers, abandoning her meal.

“But I have been treated with respect here. I heard tales of Vikings raping women and killing the innocent, but you have all accepted me, trained my hand with experience of an axe, and allowed me to be myself. I can’t help but love another who is already loved and married. I am ashamed of that, when these men have not raped and abused me, forced me into a skirt or into a marriage that I do not want. I want to accept their proposals as a sign of my gratitude, but I can’t ever love them like how I do for another.”

She hung her head, expecting her guardian to yell at her, kicking her out for shaming her name. But it never came, Brynhild just laughed and smiled at her.

“Rolf told me of his affections for you the minute he saw you. But he was already wedded to Hilga and couldn’t betray her like that.”

“You knew?!” Ronnat exclaimed.

“We all know, child! But soulmates will always find each other in another life.”

“What do you speak about?” Ronnat questioned, snorting as if it was a joke.

“There is legend and myth that when our bodies die, our souls stay on this earth to enter another body and start a new one. A woman in Constantinople once claimed that her dead son entered the body of another boy years later.” Brynhild told her in story like form.

“That is shit and you know it!” Ronnat accused.

“We know nothing of our lives, my child. We are here on this earth and we don’t know why. I have heard stories that love is what spurs the soul to stay, because in this life we don’t get to fully come into the love we have for our soulmates. So we are blessed with as many lives as we must take in order to fall in love and complete our life.”

Ronnat took Brynhild’s story as just that, a fantastic tale that inspired little children. But despite her insistence, she couldn’t help the spark of hope inside of her that so desperately wanted to believe in something for once. She could believe in her ability to swing an axe, Rolf and Hilge’s friendship towards her (despite her affections), and her home with Brynhild. But she wanted something with a spark, even though she couldn’t afford to believe it. She wanted a chance to, even if it did mean she was naive to the real and bitter world she lived in.

Her life of living in the north, away from the dramas of Europe and kings and petty wars, finally came to a halt when the Vikings boarded up on their boats again and planned for more pillages. She was at the age of twenty four now, unmarried, and strong with weaponry. She had grown up to become a more beefier woman, her shoulders broad and her arms muscled from working amongst the other men. Rolf had even shown her different routines, leading her through them and getting her help in chopping firewood and lugging it back the seven miles to the village.

She was enthusiastic to join along with the Vikings in their raids, willing to show and prove herself to them. They believed in her, so she wanted to show what she was worth. They sailed out, raiding a port town called Ribe. There was blood, fire, and screams, but Ronnat followed in Rolf’s heed and had his back as he had hers. 

“Why do we kill innocents?” She had asked Rolf before they had attacked Ribe.

“In our eyes,” he said calmly, polishing his axe blade, “they aren’t really innocent. They are forcing their religions on the people, baptising, blessing, and cursing others in the name of their god. They claim they want to bless this earth, but they are trying to force their name and brand on everyone.”

He winked, causing Ronnat to blush furiously and scowl, smiling a toothy smile as he looked up from his axe.

“They’re also weak, so focused on their own petty problems that they never see us comin’.”

Ronnat found that she could kill, but only when she had to defend herself. She didn’t purposely slaughter the women and children, only the men who came at her with their knives and cleavers. She just pictured that they were trying to come for her dignity, and it was easier to stab them through the chest.

After the attack on Ribe, they sailed along the coasts of Normandie and Frankreich, some of their ships going back to the homeland to drop off their slaves and the gold and jewels they had stolen. Ronnat and Rolf stayed with the ships staying on course, making their way towards Noirmoutier.

It was hard for Ronnat to queal the desires and thoughts in her head about Rolf. He was kind and defended her in the raids, he didn’t go home to his wife and child instead he stayed by her side and defend her pride and honor, and he slept beside her as to ensure that no one got any ideas and attacked her in the night. He didn’t talk much, but when he did he had very wise things to say and stories to tell that stirred her stomach and guts like a boiling pot of soup.

As they landed on the beaches of Noirmoutier, she couldn’t help the feeling that stuck in her gut, making her limbs feel like led and her head grew heavy. Something felt wrong and she couldn’t place her finger on it. It was irritating and distracting, almost costing her her life a few times if it hadn’t been for Rolf.

“What is the matter?” He asked her as they scurried behind a building for cover, their own men starting to light fire to several nearby huts.

“I am not sure, something feels _wrong_.” Ronnat mumbled. “I do not know what I am speaking of, let us get along.” She motioned for Rolf to lead the way.

“You are sure?” He asked, placing a hand on her bicep.

The touch alone ruined her, heat soaring through her veins and scouring her insides. She was being undone by a simple touch, and wasn’t that _pathetic_. She looked away from his hand and up into his eyes; those same brown eyes that had reached out to her in the hut she grew up oppressed in. The words came tumbling out of her mouth of her own accord before she could stop herself.

“I respect you, Rolf. Very much, you are a fearless man, a great man who has shown me the greatest kindness and friendship.”

His eyes softened and he smiled, despite the screams and horrors happening around them.

“I have wanted to say this for quite some time. But thank you for your belief in me and the respect you show me.” She muttered, her throat feeling like it was closing up despite herself.

“My dear Ronnat,” Rolf spoke in the softest tone, “you are most welcome. You deserve any man’s deepest respect, and I am deeply moved to be the only man to get that from you.”

It was the closest thing to a love confession Ronnat had ever heard and she wanted to kiss him so badly. She had never felt the urges of a woman before, always ignoring and pushing her sex to the back of her mind in an attempt to learn more about wielding weaponry, so she was surprised at the sudden passionate need in her chest and screaming in her head. But Hilge was her friend too, a lovely person who had shown her kindness, she couldn’t betray her like that.

They were pulled away from their confessions when the screams and shouts got closer to where they were hiding in the shadows, alerting them that they needed to be ready to attack and fight. Rolf started to step out, but suddenly Ronnat caught sight of something silver gleaming in the moonlight.

“Rolf!” She screamed as the gleam disappeared and a man stepped out of the shadows and lunged at Rolf, his sword slicing straight across Rolf’s neck.

Ronnat’s knees wobbled and she screamed as Rolf staggered backwards into her body, blood spilling down his neck and out of the corners of his mouth. She lunged and swung her sword at the man, catching him by surprise (his eyes had widened upon seeing her as a woman) and piercing her swords straight through his stomach. The fool hadn’t been wearing any armour, she thought bitterly even though Rolf was covered in armour across his entire torso. All besides his exposed neck.

“R-Rolf, p-please, n-n-no.” She stuttered, sobbing and tripping over her words as she cradled Rolf’s head in her lap.

He was choking and quickly dying, she realized. His eyes found hers, glistening with tears and words unspoken, before his choking stopped and his grip on her hand slackened. She let out a loud sob as his beautiful brown, sparkling eyes stopped glistening up at her and faded with the life that had once been inside of him. Pain ripped all throughout her chest and heart as she cried out to the sky.

They defeated Noirmoutier, but deep inside her chest she didn’t feel the victory her men felt. They had set up camp outside the city, celebrating and feasting, but Ronnat didn’t join the party. She immediately approached the leader and requested to take Rolf’s body back to his wife and child. The next morning she was sailing back to her home with Rolf’s body wrapped up in clean cloths. Vikings hardly had a death count on their side, but when they did it was a blow to the people.

But a few nights later, Ronnat experienced her first sea storm. The storm came in unnaturally fast, clouds spreading across the sky so fast and lightning lashing out of the sky and thunder clapping above their heads. The boat was tossed about violently, causing everyone on board to rush to its aide in getting the ship safely through the night. But the winds picked up and the waves crashed and pulled the ship around.

Ronnat was pulling ropes and trying to help the masts when a wave crashed and hit the bottom of the boat so hard that she was flung across the ship to the ledge. She grasped at the ropes and boards beneath her desperately, feeling the ocean spraying beneath her. Men screamed and yelled above her, trying to get to her and help her up over the ledge inside the boat.

But suddenly another wave hit and everything was in slow motion. Ronnat wasn’t sure if she herself let go or if she lost grip of the ship but she was suddenly falling into the ocean. Her back hit the water, her mind wandering back to when she was six and watched Lassie get pulled into it’s dark depths.

It was a little bit poetic, she thought as she sunk under the waves, that she was being dragged under the water when the beautiful, dark ocean had been her inspiration throughout her growing up life. She admired the beauty of the waves and ocean spray, the shells and pearls it brought up to the surface, but the danger that lurked in it’s darkness and the strength of it’s tides was what really inspired her.

She didn’t even scream or struggle against the darkness surrounding her as the moonlight above her snuffed out and her lungs ached and burned ferociously. She just simply closed her eyes and allowed the burn to spread.

The boat made it through the storm, giving Rolf’s body to his wife and child. But a story had been sparked of their brave Viking Warrior Princess, Ronnat Kelly-Turgot, and how she had avenged his death but was swallowed by the deep dark ocean. Brynhild Turgot was distraught over her adopted daughter’s death, but she swore to anyone that would listen that Ronnat’s soul still lived because she had so much more to accomplish in her life.


	2. Margaret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agnes Shawe gave birth to a wide, green eyed baby girl on February 7th, 1576 . John Shawe, a lawyer and distinguished man, was proud to see their daughter’s birth go smoothly. Man and wife held hands and smiled, wide eyed and happily as their daughter was to be blessed and baptized, her name being given that evening. They had decided on Margaret, a beautiful name for a beautiful baby, they claimed.
> 
> In this chapter there's mentions of a fear of drowning, death, parent ignorance, death by a house fire, witches and spells, more death by fire, and sprinkle of angst

1576 February 7th

 

Agnes Shawe gave birth to a wide, green eyed baby girl. John Shawe, a lawyer and distinguished man, was proud to see their daughter’s birth go smoothly. Man and wife held hands and smiled, wide eyed and happily as their daughter was to be blessed and baptised, her name being given that evening. They had decided on Margaret, a beautiful name for a beautiful baby, they claimed. 

It was a little concerning though, Agnes noted, that her newborn baby screamed her head off as she was being lowered into the bath. The priest had tried to shush their baby, praying and whispering assurances, but the baby just screamed and wailed more at the prospect of being lowered into the water. They were able to go through with the baptising, even though the priest reminded John to give the young girl a good religious education and to make sure that the baby was raised in a good home so that no demons would enter their daughter at a young age if it wasn’t too late already.

Little Margaret was a precious child with chestnut brown hair and vivid green eyes. She was a perfectly content baby and would sleep through the night, Agnes noted, but she was still a little concerned over the baptism. Her child was practically an angel and she wouldn’t keep John awake when he needed to sleep for work the next day. But that didn’t stop the concern from leaving the back of her mind. If anything, her daughter was too perfect.

Even in her growing up and toddler years, Margaret grew up perfectly content and innocent. She smiled politely and never disrupted her father’s work, always obeying her nanny’s and her mother’s wishes. She was literally the perfect child.

The only complaint Margaret ever got was an internal opinion of her nurse Matilda. The woman was infertile and a widow, becoming a nurse for her neighbors, the Shawe’s, when she needed a place to stay. Matilda never wanted to complain about anything, especially since Agnes and John gave her a perfect life after hers had started to crash and burn, but something was wrong about their perfect child.

One being that the child had an unnatural air to her. Her eyes looked unnatural on her, almost as if God above had taken an older woman’s eyes and plastered them on a child’s face. They held a horror in the back of them, a deep jade green that sent chills down Matilda’s spine. The child also was too unnaturally calm when it came to getting hurt. She had hit her head on a cabinet and had just looked up at Matilda, unfazed and kept on playing with her dolls. 

But then came the incident, that Matilda swore onto God to never tell anyone, where little Margaret had been trying to reach for one of her dolls on a ledge. When the girl couldn’t reach she simply just extended her hand and the doll  _ floated _ off the shelf into her waiting hands. Matilda tried not to scream, smacking a hand over her mouth as she fled from the room as quietly as she could. She knew she would be fired if she shared these conspiracies with the girl’s parents, but she had to keep her wits about her.

Matilda kept an eye on the girl, watching her grow up and grow into a prettier little girl with a fascination for her dolls and playing pretend. One day Matilda listened in on one of the little games Margaret was playing and was shocked to realize she was playing a game of Vikings. She was pretending to be a Viking, piercing her stick forward like a sword and cheering valiantly. 

“Mrs. Shawe,” Matilda muttered one day at tea time, “did you give your daughter a lesson Vikings the other day?”

“Heavens no! Why would my perfect daughter be informed of such evil acts?!” Agnes exclaimed with a snort of laughter as she sipped her tea.

Matilda gulped and hid her reaction behind her teacup.

So where had the young girl learned about Vikings and why was she obsessed with them? And also what was the explanation behind her fear of the bath? The girl refused to bathe sometimes, her big green eyes getting dark and wide as she stared at the water. It took a lot of promises and excuses to get Margaret to bathe, much to Matilda’s frustration. She also hated looking the child in the eye when she got scared, because those eyes seriously didn’t belong to a young three year old girl. Those were the eyes of an older soul who had lost and suffered. Matilda was seeing horror and fear in a three year old’s eyes and that was frightening.

But Matilda’s suffering and fear came to a halting stop when John invested in a swimming pool in the back to get Margaret to get over her fear. The little girl never stepped foot out into the backyard because of that, always playing out in the front yard and the gardens there. 

“Agnes,” John groaned, “why does our daughter refuse the pool?”

“She is a child, John! She has a fear, so don’t force her to go swimming! Let her get used to the idea! Maybe she will come around.”

The suggestion didn’t work. Margaret continued to play with her dolls in the front yard, always ignoring the existence of the pool for a solid four months. One morning as Margaret was playing up in her room, her father and mother walked up before Matilda could come up to watch over the child. John had work to get to, but he was worried and so was his wife. Having such an oddity in his household was unsettling and he couldn’t stand another minute of it.

“Margaret? We would like to talk to you, honey.” Agnes called out to the little girl.

Margaret looked up from her dolls and smiled a toothy smile.

“Margaret? Can you tell us why you won’t go and play in the pool? I spent a lot of money on it for you.” John asked the young girl.

The little girl stopped playing with her dolls and sat up slowly, an eerie look on her face.

“I don’t like it father.” She simply said.

“But why? We don’t understand child!” Agnes exclaimed, unaware to John’s sudden concern. 

He got goosebumps all up and down his spine as his daughter looked him dead in the eye, her eyes haunting.

“I have nightmares mother.” She said, picking up a doll and looking at it, tilting her head as she seemed to consider it.

“What?” Agnes breathed, raising a shaky hand to her mouth.

“What are these nightmares about?” John asked, holding his wife’s hand.

“I’m with Rolfie,” Margaret says as she holds up her doll for them to see that she’s cut the hair and had the seamstress gave her boys clothes. The doll is blonde and Agnes can see a bit of fabric hanging over the dolls lip and chin in an attempt to be a beard. “And the mean man slices his neck.”

John’s blood goes cold at the words that are so innocently spoken from his daughter’s lips. Agnes cries out, clasping a shaking hand over her mouth.

“Margaret, what’s going on in your head—”

“Nothing Father!” Margaret says with a grin. “I drown in my nightmares too, I’m on a big ship and I need to get Rolfie to his family but then I fall overboard.”

John starts to get up but as he stands he is suddenly shoved back down. His eyes go wide and Agnes screams as Margaret smiles at her parents.

“Mother, Father, you don’t understand me. I understand that, because sometimes I don’t understand me!” She giggles sweetly and stands up, walking around to face them. “But understand this,” and then she goes serious, grasping her father’s face in a firm hold that is so surprisingly strong for a child, “I will  _ not _ go in your stupid pool.”

Margaret reaches away and walks out of the room, ignoring the cries from her mother and father, the door slamming without any physical force. Margaret hops down the stairs one at a time and looks up to see the pool out the window. At that moment, Matilda is walking up the stairs to go and check on the little girl when she hears Margaret scream an ear piercing scream. Matilda’s blood ran cold and she ran up the stairs to see the little girl at the top of them.

The smell of smoke suddenly hits Matilda’s nose as she approached the little girl sitting on the stairs, tears streaming down her face.

“You’re in trouble, Matilda.” She whispered as horror sunk in Matilda’s mind.

The case was an odd one for sure and it spread viciously around the country of England. The nursemaid, Matilda Lovell, was accused of murder and arson of John and Agnes Shawe. She was sentenced to prison and the poor orphan Margaret Shawe was passed onto her aunt from her mother’s side, Euphemia Atlee. 

In truth though, Margaret was fully aware of what she had done. She couldn’t control the urges in her body and how she used them, but all she had known was that she needed her parents to understand the pain of her past life. She needed someone to understand and she didn’t know how to make anyone see it. But with her parents death, she came into a new life that welcomed her with welcome arms. She could remember the kind woman who had taken her in in the past, so she found it very amusing that this was the same case in this life.

Euphemia Atlee knew immediately what she was.

“I cannot believe my daughter would bear a witch, just like her cursed sister! What a case!” The older woman had exclaimed as they had settled in Euphemia’s private quarters.

“I didn’t mean to do that to mother and father.” Margaret said crossly.

“Oh child, I believe you,” Euphemia said, “you weren’t raised to control your powers! Who could blame you for having a temper tantrum and blowing them up!”

“I have old memories too.” Margaret admitted. “I think I was a Viking.”

Euphemia sat still, pondering the thought and staring at her niece.

“You are an old soul, my dearest niece. I think your magic that runs in your veins is what helped you remember those memories.” Euphemia said, almost fondly.

Margaret was raised in Euphemia’s cottage just outside the bustling city of London all throughout her adolescence and into her teen years. Euphemia gave her niece a proper education of basic reading and math but then she would show her niece how to chanel the magic that ran through their shared veins. At the mere age of five Margaret was learning how to create healing spells and medicines. She would help Euphemia make different concoctions, learning different spellworks and the sort as she grew up.

In the area, Euphemia was known to be a tradeswoman in these concoctions. Nobody could frame her for being a witch, because her work was not evil. She healed people who came in by appointment and prescribed people with antidotes. She was known as a miracle worker, no one could frame or arrest her and she lived freely practicing magic so that her power didn’t go insane and she could help people.

“There is no bad magic, Margie,” Euphemia told her niece one day when the girl was eight, “there are bad people who can twist anything and make it bad. That’s what a knife is, you use it to chop foods and cook, but put it in the wrong person’s hand and it becomes a weapon.”

Euphemia couldn’t take care of the entire cottage by herself, feeding the chickens was probably the extent of the yardwork she could do so she had hired two farm hands to come and help them. Margaret was nine when she met the new boys coming to work and clean for her aunt. She got all dressed up in a nice dress and asked her aunt to braid her hair up and out of her face.

Margaret was a little nervous at meeting boys her age, especially when the memories of the boys her age in her past memories came to mind and how they liked to lift her skirts to see if there was something else besides her fanny there. She watched the farm boys approach, her green eyes landing on the taller boy with dark brown hair and dark brown eyes. He looked much older than her, maybe sixteen, and he smiled politely at her and her aunt. But as Margaret’s eyes landed on the smaller boy she was suddenly overwhelmed with memories.

It was his eyes! It was her Rolfie’s beautiful brown eyes in this boy, she was sure of it! The boy seemed aware of their connection, the sparks tingling on her skin and the warm feeling settling in her chest, because the corners of his lips turned up in the same wicked grin.

“Hullo madam, what chores do you have for us to get started on?” The older boy asked, oblivious to the grin the two were sharing.

Margaret soon found out her Rolfie was now known as William Norris, Will for short. He was her age and he had three little sisters and another brother younger than him. His family were poor and farmers down the hill from them, so helping assist her Aunt Euphemia was a sure blessing.

“Do you remember me, Will?” Margaret asked.

“You’re in my dreams,” he said slowly, looking at her with his sweet brown eyes, “you’re the brave girl.”

Margaret grinned, holding back the need to hug him, just like she had clenched her fists in order to not kiss him that last night. 

“And you were the kindest man I ever knew.”

His blush made her grin even harder as she skipped away to let him do his work.

Will quickly found out about Margaret’s magic, and he was ecstatic about it. He thought it was cool, even though he had heard so many different horror stories through his parents. His brother, James, would take care of the cattle and the horses and Will would sometimes help Euphemia and Margaret with gardening and putting their herbs and plants in different pots and applying different spells and works to them. Will watched with wide eyes as Margaret had learned how to revive a dead plant, watching the dry and cracked leaves spring to life and grow green and brand new before his very eyes.

Euphemia learned of Will’s past and his connection to her niece, knowing that she could trust the farmer’s boy with their secrets. She had good reason to be suspicious, since witch trials were beginning to pick up with more heat. There was even one held in the royal court where four poor girls were sent to be burned at the stake. Many of the girls and women accused weren’t actually witches, to Euphemia’s horror. It was all people getting scared and making up stories and believing the lies they were told.

Euphemia kept extra attention to keeping her niece safe, knowing that she was a special girl with a very strong power in her veins. One night though, Euphemia had a very vivid dream, one she would remember for the rest of her life. In the dream she saw her niece standing before a set of mirrors. There was five mirrors in front of her, one of them showing her own nieces reflection. But the other four showed vastly different people. 

The first one held a tall woman with deep red, curly hair and a serious set to her jaw. The third one was a shorter woman with a confident stature and an aristocracy about her, pearls strung around her neck and a feather fan held gracefully in her hand. This woman had dark brown hair and her eyes were more jade green, a look of curiosity in her eyes. The fourth mirror held a girl in white attire with a bright red cross on a hat settled on her head, her lips turned down in a serious frown with bright red lipstick and her brown hair tied back in a loose bun at the nape of her neck. The fifth mirror held a short girl with short curly brown hair with bright pink mixed in, her eyes more hazel and she wore trousers instead of skirts.

Euphemia glanced at each mirror, instantly noticing the similarities each one had with one another and how they looked just like her niece but with slight differences. She suddenly had the impression that these four other women were going to be the different identities she would take on. Her eyes glanced back to the first one, understanding that this must have been the Viking girl. 

But suddenly the Viking girl’s appearance changed and she was suddenly soaked wet. Her eyes were wide with fear and she was clinging to her arms as she shivered against the water that had drenched her. Confused she glanced at the others, but she wished she hadn’t. Her niece, the image of her in the mirror a good few years older than she was now, was screaming as flames swallowed her body whole. The girl with the pearls screamed and her head toppled off her neck and hit the floor with a smack. The woman in the white garb had red slits down her arms, blood pouring out of her wounds as her eyes clouded over and she looked completely miserable. But the final last girl just stared at Euphemia, a look on her face as they stared each other down.

“My darling dear, h-how can you endure all this pain?” Euphemia croaked out, tears pooling in her eyes in pity for her niece.

“I finally make peace, Auntie,” the woman said with a grin, “I finally get the ending I deserve.”

Euphemia woke up in a cold sweat, horror and fear clawing it’s way up her throat until she dry heaved over the side of her bed. Acid stung in her throat as she jumped up and ran into the bathroom. She lit a match, lighting a candle to see her reflection staring back at her in the ghostly lighting.

She gripped the edges of the porcelain sink and stared herself in the eyes.

“I will do anything to be with her through this.” She muttered.

She swore it to happen, she would find some sort of potion or spell to make it happen.

Margaret grew up in the little cottage, dreams of going out into the world, healing people of their diseases, and marrying Will taking up her daydreams. She was turning seventeen in a couple of weeks and she so desperately wanted to get somewhere with Will. The boy was as oblivious as could be. She had daydreamed of every possible scenario where she would confess her feelings and kiss him on the mouth, getting an equally passionate response.

But the boy, now a man, was as dumb as could be. He was always working, his brother long gone to go work in London as an apprentice, putting all his attention to working on her aunt’s cottage and farm. Her aunt had pulled her aside, warning her that Will’s parents might not be so lenient to allowing him to show his affections for her.

“But he’s mine, auntie.” She whined, “He couldn’t be mine before because he was Hilge’s, but now he’s mine! He can be mine! I want him to be.”

Euphemia patted her head softly, smiling fondly.

“I know honey, I know.”

But everything good just had to come to halting stop. A young couple had been found dead in their home, a bottle in their hands that was said was to be from Euphemia. When authorities came to question her, she admitted to selling the couple a medicine to see if their chances at consummating their marriage would work. But she plead to the authorities that she had not meant harm, that there was no way that she would have killed them.

Margaret had fled to the barn, finding Will in a flurry of nerves and fear.

“What if they take her away from me, Will?” She muttered into his chest as she squeezed him tight. “What if they burn her at the stake?”

“They won’t,” Will swore, squeezing her in response, “I promise you, Margaret.”

There was no ill play found in the cottage, so the authorities went to question others on the possible murder, if it hadn’t been a suicide over not being able to consummate. But Margaret was still shaken over the close call. 

They found another dead person with medicine linking back to Euphemia’s cottage. This time the authorities had to take her in, since there was two deaths linked to her medicines. Margaret came downstairs to see royal guards leading her aunt out the door to their carriage.

“Wait! What’s going on?!” She yelled, chasing after them.

“You’re aunt is being taken in under the assumption of murder, Miss Shawe. We need to question you as well, so you will be joining us.” One of the guards said, grabbing her bicep.

Before Margaret could respond, one of the guards came around the other side of the carriage hauling Will along with him.

“Found ‘im in the barn, could be witness as well ‘eh?” The guard spoke with a heavy accent.

“Bring ‘im along then.” The first guard said, motioning for the other to shove Will inside the carriage.

Will held Margaret’s hand in a tight squeeze, Margaret’s other hand in her aunt’s. Fear had never lodged this tight in her throat, not since her stupid father had ordered that pool made and forced her to stare down at it’s dark depths. She didn’t want her aunt to die, or Will to be caught up in all of this. She hated the people who were scared of something they didn’t understand, automatically jumping to conclusions and blaming people with magic to be Satan worshippers.

They immediately started a trial the next morning after storing the three of them in a cell. They ended up seeing a court, many people coming in attendance to see the trial go down. There were witnesses called up to the stand to speak for Euphemia’s behalf on her character, all of them being patients who had been healed by her remedies and all saying that she was a miracle worker.

There was one client though who had been suspicious and told the jury that she had thought there was something deeper and sinister to Euphemia’s ways of healing. The guards who had come to the cottage had gathered evidence of some herbs and remedies to show the jury and judge as evidence. The ingredients brought in all lined up with the ingredients in the potion given to the couple and the migrain potion given to the dead gentleman. 

Then someone came up to speak about Euphemia’s character, someone Margaret had never seen before.

“My cousin is a wicked woman. I’ve always been wary of her growing up, always making sure to check what I was drinking and eating and looking over my shoulder. I never caught evidence of her wrong doings in the dark, but I thought I had her when her sister and her husband died.”

Margaret clenched her fists as the woman, a distant relative of hers apparently, spoke.

“But the blame was put on the handmaiden, but you want to know what my theory is now? In all of these recent murders, you want to know who’s been lurking in the shadows? Margaret Shawe.”

Margaret felt her blood go cold.

“She was just a mere child when her parents died, but I heard first hand from my cousin Agnes that as a child, dear Margaret would have violent episodes over the randomest of things. She screamed when the priest tried to baptise her!”

The crowd gasped in shock and horror. Margaret wanted so desperately to stand up and defend herself, explaining her fear of water, but her relative kept speaking.

“I believe that Margaret was born with witch blood. That she killed her parents in that fire and she has been raised by Euphemia, who works with spells and magic, and covers her murders of her patients.”

Everything was turned upside down now, the crowd was in an uproar and the judge was smacking his gavel down, but no one paid him any attention. She could feel people shouting at her, spitting, and throwing things at her neck and head. Will grasped her hand, his brown eyes wide as their eyes met. He mouthed out the words “forgive me”.

Will suddenly stood up.

“It was me! I killed them!”

Margaret was sure she screamed, because a guard was pulling her back into her seat and Euphemia was trying to say something to her but she couldn’t hear it. All she was focused on was the guards rushing towards Will and pushing him forward.

“Order!” The Judge screamed, his gavel breaking against his desk. “I shall think over the evidence in the back room!”

The room was in an uproar as the guards led Margaret out of the room, even as she was trying to claw her way to Will who was being led in the opposite direction. Margaret was panicking, her entire world was crashing down around her as she sat in a dirty cell. Finally after several long hours, she was lead back into the courtroom and sat down beside her aunt.

“Auntie I’m scared.” She murmured to her.

“Don’t be my child.” She whispered back.

“He can’t do this, he can’t die for me again. I won’t stand it.” Her eyes were already starting to well up with tears.

“My darling, you told me yourself that you are destined to be with him, if you can’t settle everything in this time then you have a whole period of time before you to do so.” Euphemia said with a fond smile.

“I don’t want you to leave me.” Margaret admitted, a tear dripping down her cheek.

“I will never leave you darling, I’ll always be with you.”

The judge came back in and delivered the news that would destroy Margaret’s entire being.

“William Norris has been sentenced to murder through the compliance and handwork of witchcraft through the hands of Margaret Shawe who is being sentenced with the official murder of Agnes and John Shawe and of Robert and Beatrice Steward. Euphemia Atlee is being sentenced with the corruption of Margaret Shawe and handwork of witchcraft and spells. All three will be sentenced to death at the stakes tomorrow morning.”

Margaret was placed in a cell right next to Will’s, where she held his hand in hers through the bars throughout the night. They both didn’t sleep, they just sat there talking and trying to ignore the fact that their death sentence hung over their heads.

“I was married wasn’t I? In my old life?” Will asked.

Margaret nodded her head.

“You don’t remember everything?” Margaret asked.

“No, I remember small things.” Will said, smiling suddenly. “I remember when we met and you surprised us all with your swordsmanship.”

Margaret grinned at that memory, especially when their eyes met and sparks exploded all over her skin.

“I remember it as if it happened yesterday. Even as a little child, I could speak fluently so I just didn’t really speak at all for fear of what my nanny or parents would say.” She sat there in silence for a moment. “Do you remember your death?”

Will shifted and looked up at her.

“Yes, I remember my last thought being that I was upset I couldn’t help you bludgeon this dickhead.”

Margaret giggled, even though there were tears in her eyes.

“I was so upset, you dick, you left me.” She’s full on crying at this point, her hands clenched around Will’s hand. “Now you’re going to leave me again.”

Will shifted and moved his other hand through the bars, placing his rough hand on her soft cheek.

“We came to each other again, didn’t we? We can do it again.”

“But what if we don’t? What if you just leave forever and I’m cursed to die and come back without you in it?” Margaret stifled a sob.

“It will all work out, life has a funny way of doing that.” Will said with a chuckle, before he sobered and stared into her eyes, his eyes sparkling with life. “You deserve the deepest of respect, remember that.”

Margaret cried out, remembering how he said those words to her on their last night together.

“I died of drowning last time, now I’m going to die of flames,” she chuckled dryly. “The polar opposites of each other.”

“I’ve been scared of knives in this life.” Will said. “That makes so much more sense now.”

“I couldn’t go in a swimming pool, and when I was baptized at birth my parents thought I was a demon baby because I was scared of the water!” She sobbed.

Will lifted her face and cupped her chin in his hands.

“In my past life I never said anything because I was with another and I couldn’t destroy her like that.” His voice was low and raw. “But I was put in this life to be the farmers boy who watched you grow up in a beautiful home, literally flourishing with life and happiness. It has taught me how much I truly do care for you and I hope in this next life I am given the greatest opportunity to be by your side.”

Margaret wanted to cry more, but she had been crying for hours now. She was shocked when Will leaned forward through the bars and placed a soft kiss on her quivering lips. Sparks and warmth shot their way through her skin at the touch of their lips. They stared at each other in awe as the sun peeked in through the bars and the guards came to gather them.

They were lead down to the courtyard of the town, a giant crowd forming already as Margaret was tied and propped up on the giant stake above the ground. Her wrists burned from the rope rubbing against her skin and she was being pelted with rotten food by the crowd. She glanced over at Euphemia and smiled sadly at her.

As one of the guards read out their sentences and another held a staff lit on fire, she shifted over to look at Will. He was beautiful, his blonde hair matted to his forehead and his brown eyes glittering and beautiful as they stared into her green ones. She whimpered as she watched the guard light Euphemia’s post on fire.

“Goodbye auntie.” She whispered, tears rolling down her cheeks as she watched the flames crawl up her aunt’s legs and wrap its arms around her in an embrace of death. 

Margaret bit her lip as her post was lit next, the flames making her sweat already and her skin prickle. She bit back a scream as they danced on her thighs and legs, watching as the guard lit Will’s post next. They looked each other in the eye as the flames crawled up their bodies and their composure broke, their screams tearing up through their mouths.

She had watched the moonlight flicker out as her chest burned in her last life. Now she faced an audience of people who feared her, burning alive. She had just found her soulmate and they had rekindled, expressed their love, until it was burned away. Life had a horrible sense of humor with her so far.


	3. Perrette

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perrette Beaufay was born to Jacquiette and Hubert Beaufay in their private estate in Paris on March 14th 1775. She was born with her mother’s jade green eyes and her fathers sleek black/brown hair. She cried and screamed for hours, the doctors saying she was almost feverish. She was sent into a back room to cool down and have a cool bath, after several hours of cooling the baby girl down, she was swaddled and presented into her mother’s arms.
> 
> In this chapter there is mentions of parental ignorance, arranged marriages, a lot of french terms of endearment, mentions of period based homophobia, religion bashing (sorta), heavy use of the guillotine, and some slight gore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to start posting the last chapters today, there are two more after this, so enjoy! Also, I will note some of the french I (may have butchered and used google to help translate) used in the notes below!

March 14th 1775

 

Perrette Beaufay was born to Jacquiette and Hubert Beaufay in their private estate in Paris on March 14th 1775. She was born with her mother’s jade green eyes and her fathers sleek black/brown hair. She cried and screamed for hours, the doctors saying she was almost feverish. She was sent into a back room to cool down and have a cool bath, after several hours of cooling the baby girl down, she was swaddled and presented into her mother’s arms. 

Hubert had left as soon as the baby was born and hadn’t even gotten the word that his child was feverish, he left the estate to attend a business meeting amongst other members of aristocracy to discuss political meetings. Jacquiette was left with her daughter, not even knowing how to care for the whimpering baby.

As the years went by, this same method of parenting became evident in Perrette’s life. She was cared for by her nurses and maids, sent to her parents where her father wouldn’t be present, and her mother would send her back to her room after a couple of minutes of not wanting to deal with her daughters stories and babbling.

Perrette was privately tutored and tailored into the perfect aristocratic daughter. She was taught all of her lessons in reading and writing, calligraphy, maths, astronomy, and politics. She was then whisked away to their private ballroom where she would practice tango, ballet, the waltz, and various other dance routines and steps she would know for the fancy balls her parents held every year. Then she would practice piano, violin, and singing classes. 

Her days were jammed pack with lessons on purpose, so that her mother didn’t have to deal with her and her father could go to his meetings and meet up with friends for drinks. Perrette was forced into friendships with other children of her parents friends, they were all stuck up kids who had to do the same lessons as her. They would talk about boring topics and just sit, but Perrette found that her mind was restless and she wanted to go exploring. 

One day she had escaped the parlour in search of something to discover or do. She was just opening a door she had no idea what lead behind it when a cough echoed behind her. She jumped and whipped her head around to see a tan boy standing before her, a head shorter but probably her age. He had big wide brown eyes and jet black hair falling over his brow. His were what captured her into this mysterious boy, they had such life and animation to them, it was like seeing a picture of what the boy was seeing or feeling fully displayed for all to see.

This boy looked scared as she had her hand on the handle of the door. She grinned and turned to him, extending her hand politely like how she was taught, but not schooling her expression into a polite smile. She didn’t feel like it, and this wasn’t any of the business partners who talked with her parents for hours on end.

“What are you so scared about?” She asked, her rich accent rolling perfectly off her tongue like how she was taught to sound, rich and poised.

The boy gulped and stepped back a step, eyeing the door again.

“I-I’ve heard there’s ghosts in there.” The boy whimpered.

Perrette let out a laugh, a loud one that was completely unladylike but she couldn’t help herself, this boy was infectious!

“Ghosts aren’t real!” She giggled.

“I-I don’t lie!” The boy exclaimed. “The ghosts in there rattle the door and howl in the night!”

“I believe that would be the hounds out in their kennels,  _ idiot _ !” She teased.

The boy blinked and suddenly he didn’t look as scared.

“ _ Je m’excuse, mademoiselle _ .” The boy apologized, bowing and starting to walk away.

“What is your name,  _ garçon _ ?” 

“Olivier,” the boy responded after a moment, “Olivier Douillard.”

“I’ve never seen you around, Olivier, I’m Perrette.” She introduced.

“I am the son of Collette, your maid, I don’t normally roam the halls I was just hungry.” Olivier looked down at his feet with red cheeks.

Perrette grinned and looped her arm through the boy’s.

“Me too, the croissants they are serving in the tea room are too dry, I need some pudding to wash it down.”

From then on, Perrette grew a deep friendship with Olivier. He was her closest confident, especially when she grew tired of being casted aside by her parents. She knew she was to be married off one day and live in a fancy house, but everything in her wanted to go adventuring through the alps with Olivier. In their adolescence the two shared a love for adventures and exploring. The two always talked about dreams and mysteries, always by each other’s side as they both grew up. 

But as she reached her teen years, her parents started to become more present in her life. When she was fourteen, her father started looking more worried and worn looking. Suddenly one day he gave her nurses orders to not allow her outside. It was a bright summer's day and it was incredibly disappointing to not be allowed out in the sun. She and Olivier were planning to go down to the seamstress shop with his mother and get ice lollies together and look at the beautiful fabrics. Olivier was just as bummed as her, the both of them pouting by the window until one of the older maids rushed over and shut it, swinging the blinds over.

“Why must you take the sun away, Marion?!” Perrette exclaimed.

“You mustn’t be seeing what’s going on down there, it’s not for children’s eyes.” Marion ordered them.

The two teens sat there stoically, nodding their heads obediently, but as soon as Marion disappeared around the corner, the two jumped up and flung the curtains open. The streets below were packed full of commonfolk running around. There were people screaming and shouting, gunfire in the distance and they could see smoke filtering up into the sky from a couple of blocks away.

“What is happening?”

“A revolution….” Olivier muttered, glancing over at his friend.

“My father didn’t want me hurt," she scowled and sat down, pondering the thought more, “no, he didn’t want himself hurt. So that must mean that we are in trouble. That my family might be behind this…”

She frowned down at her hands.

“I don’t want to be the reason the people of our beautiful city revolt.” She murmured.

Olivier sat down beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder.

“You aren’t like them, Perrette.”

And she really wasn’t. In the face of parties and aristocracy, she was the perfect daughter who played the part well. But behind closed doors she was celebrating her best friend’s birthday in the kitchens while her maids all checked the hall to make sure her parents didn’t find and catch them. It was a known fact amongst the staff that Jacquiette wanted nothing to do with her daughter, that she bore an heir for her family name and did her duty, but it was really Collette Douillard who mothered her and treated her like the daughter she never had and being the mother for Perrette that she had always wanted.

Hubert was an alcoholic and a businessman, dabbling in the politics of the time and trying to make his family name shine bright through it all. He would play any card to make his name look good, as he was taught and raised to do so. Jacquiette had partners behind her husbands back, sleeping with members of her husband’s business meetings and fancy men she met. She was a numb woman who cared very little for anyone besides herself and her sexual needs. But little Perrette, at the mere age of fourteen, was a kind girl who grew up nurtured and raised by the staff around her. She loved her nurses, nannies, and maids like they were her real true family. And Olivier, good heavens what would she do without him! Olivier was there with her at her side, what more could she ask for in life?

As she turned fifteen, her father sought out a marriage proposal for her. It was to a sixteen year old boy from another aristocratic family they were in deals with, his name was Charles Griffon. He was a tall boy with long blonde hair plastered back over his brow and dark brown eyes that pierced Perrette the moment she entered the room. He seemed to be analyzing her, taking in every inch of her skin, her appearance, and how straight she was (not) standing. She felt a flush of anger rush through her at being so picked apart this quickly in a greeting.

The boy was just plain rude too! His manners in speaking directly to her outraged her completely. She was restraining with all her might to not chuck her champagne in his face, stomp on his toe with her studded heel, and storm away. With Olivier, she was able to talk and be listened to, his eyes completely readable and his honesty so laid out and open for her. With Charles, the boy was locked up and closed away. He hadn’t even bothered to take off his travelling coat, the  _ connard! _ His entire body screamed annoyance with her and at the situation.

She was told to lead her future husband around the gardens, which irritated her beyond belief.

“You do know what emotions are, _mon_ _amie_?” She said snarkily.

“You do realize that scowling will give you wrinkles, _mon_ _amour_?”

She scowled at his word choice, which made him laugh.

“We are to be wed, you do realize this?” He teased.

“Skip the pleasantries then,  _ connard _ .” She snarled, ripping her hand away from him.

She ranted to Olivier later for hours.

“He’s such a  _ bastard _ ! A pretty boy who thinks he owns me now! I hate him and I will refuse to my father  _ in person _ to marry him!” Perrette yelled, her face red with pent up rage.

Olivier just sat stock still, his eyes wide as he took in all of Perrette’s beautiful rage. She was the image of perfection, beautiful jade green eyes and wavy brown hair tied back in a loose braid hanging down her back with silk skirts that swung with her legs, so it was a sight to see her pale face red with emotion, her eyes stormy and a scowl etched onto her gorgeous features. Olivier had known ever since he was young and he had met Perrette in that abandoned hall that he would do absolutely everything for this woman who was beautiful inside and out.

“ _ Mon cher ami _ ,” he said as he stood up and carefully grasped her shoulders. “I feel everything that you do in the same state. I cannot imagine having to live such a fate as to marrying a man you do not love.”

Perrette’s curiosity perked up in the back of her mind as her dearest friend said “man” instead of “woman” to sympathize with her. She had heard the rumors and horrible stories from other aristocratic ladies of men who bedded other men, how they were the scum of the streets and disobeying God himself. But ever since she could read from the worn bible from her own mother’s collection, she hadn’t the faintest idea that such a God existed and that the humans who littered the streets and killed innocents on this earth should be the ones to judge everyone’s fates in the name of such an almighty one.

“But you mustn’t test your father’s wishes. I would hate to see you even un-happier in life at the hand of your father’s orders.”

“Olivier,” she murmured softly, biting at her lip, pondering if this private information was too private to share with her friend. “I have dreamt of a love, a love so beautiful and wonderful I wake up every morning wondering if it was really real.”

“Tell me of this,  _ mon cher _ .” Olivier pleaded.

“I dream of the most beautiful brown eyes I’ve ever laid my own upon. His eyes are compelling and they seem to pull and push me forward through my days, they are always there with a silent plea to live and to find him.” Perrette admitted, gushing with passion as she recalled the feelings she woke up with every morning.

“That is  _ magnifique _ , Perrette. What if you have found those eyes you speak so fondly of?” Olivier asked, his eyes widening in a sense of hope.

Perrette could always read her friend like a book laid out before her. She could see his hope and wonder gleaming in his eyes and she was pulled in by it. She had always deeply loved her friend, but as she stared into his dark eyes, she suddenly felt something  _ spark _ inside of her. She couldn’t explain the feeling, the sense of connection she felt click together in the atmosphere around them. It made her lips part and goosebumps scour every inch of her skin. 

She was confused and enthralled, everything in her wanted to shorten the distance between them and find out if kissing him sparked something  _ more _ . But it also scared her, what if her dear friend didn’t feel what she had just so deeply experienced? Would she lose her one and only friend forever?  She couldn’t bear the thought of having to go through a loveless marriage and turn out like her own mother without Olivier by her side.

“ _ Peutêtre _ .” She murmured, mostly to herself.

As the summer came in, Perrette and Charles’ courtship began. Charles was at her doors every morning to join her to have morning tea with their mothers in present. Then they would traipse through the gardens and take walks by the river with guards stationed behind them in fear of commoners attacking them. One morning, a woman in rags and her skin as dry as leather came up to them screaming about having no food. 

Perrette was struck with the sudden passionate need to provide this woman with anything, she wanted to see the hollowness of her cheeks disappear and a healthy blush on her cheeks. She wanted to help every woman, child, and man in this city. She had a wondrous breakfast that morning, her stomach was full, and she had a bed to sleep in. This woman had nothing and her father was frolicking around the city showing off his wealth and flaunting it in their faces. 

It also struck her there that Olivier would have been one of these common folk, living on the streets with no food or money, and that struck deep inside her. If it wasn’t for his mother being hired as her maid she wouldn’t have met him and became her best friend and possible love of her life. She couldn’t bear the thought and she found herself reaching into her picnic basket and handing the woman a loaf of bread.

“Take it,  _ mon amie _ , take it and feed your children. I have too much and you have so little, take it and cherish it like I wouldn’t.” 

“ _ Mon amour _ , what in heaven’s good name are you doing?!” Charles hissed as the woman dashed away, yelling thank yous and blessings back to them. 

“That woman has nothing! I am blessed with so much yet it is squandered! Let me bless a poor woman!” Perrette exclaimed.

Charles pursed his lips and let go of her arm. The next morning as they took their morning walk, Perrette was surprised to note that there were several more loaves of bread and sandwiches in the basket. Once again, like the morning before, several children were rummaging through the garbage and looked up at them with hopeful expressions. 

Charles soundlessly opened the basket and held out a sandwich. One of the older boys slowly slid forward and took the sandwich, a little hesitant. The younger kids scrambled forward and looked up at Perrette with hopeful, gleaming eyes. She wanted to sob at the dirt and scratches on their faces, the looks of hunger so evident in their faces. She grabbed the loaves and sandwiches, handing them to each child.

“Bless you,  _ mademoiselle _ .” They all cheered before running down the alley where they had come from.

“Why did you allow this?” Perrette asked, her voice low and rough with emotion.

“It wasn’t my fault the maid made too many sandwiches this morning.” Charles nonchalantly responded. “It seemed a waste to not eat them ourselves.”

Perrette didn’t comment any further, so surprised and shocked at the different side of this man. She held up a guard in her mind though, to keep herself strong and to not fall for the lavish life her mother lived. She didn’t want to marry this man and fall for him when he didn’t fall for her and then resort to finding love in the pricks of other men in between her legs.

Her mother loved to throw summer balls, opening up the gardens and parlours to guests to linger in the setting sun and drink wine and eat fancy food. This ball was hosted in honor of Perrette and Charles’ courtship. She was to be dressed up in a light and airy dress, her hair in curls around her shoulders so that she would look as light and beautiful as the summer’s eve they would be dancing in.

Olivier held her hand through the maids curling the long brown strands of her hair.

“I don’t want to dance with him.” She finally spoke, breaking the silence.

“I know  _ chéri _ .” He murmured.

“But he helped me give food to the children, Oli.” She whined, using the nickname she used so fondly for her friend. “What does he want?”

“I think he’s a kind soul underneath all the pretentious air, or perhaps he wants to play games with you and see how you react.” Olivier suggested.

“ _ Peutêtre _ ,” she murmured, “I don’t want him to play with my heart strings like that.”

“Me too,  _ mon cher ami _ .” Olivier murmured too, kissing her hand delicately.

Charles knew the right dances and steps to make them glide smoothly over the dance floor set out in the garden for them. Other couples danced around them, twirling and giggling along with the light music of violins and other stringed instruments. Perrette couldn’t help but allow her eyes to glance over to Olivier every couple of minutes, watching him stand there stoically watching them dance. It felt like a hole was ripping itself open inside of her stomach as Charles’ hands twitched against her side.

“If you keep looking over at him,  _ mon amour _ , your mother will surely suspect.” He whispered in her ear.

Perrette’s blood went cold as she peered up at him.

“You are a woman of life,  _ mon cher _ , don’t be surprised that I noticed.” Charles chuckled. “You aren’t the kind of woman built for this type of dance.”

She gulped heavily, clinging to his shoulder now.

“You mustn’t be playing with my mind here,  _ Ma colombe _ .” She whimpered quietly.

“I do not play games with the hearts of women,  _ ma mie _ . I can see why your heart yearns for him.” Charles spoke, chuckling as if she had said something funny in his ear.

She scrunched her brow and peered up at him again.

“What do you mean?”

“I do not speak such courtesies to him, do not misunderstand me, but he is  _ agréable à l'oeil _ .” Charles said, quite rushed as his cheeks brightened and flushed slightly.

Perrette didn’t say anything, keeping the moment locked in her brain for further contemplation.

“He doesn’t know of my love to him,” she muttered, “not in that way.”

“Oh,  _ mon amour _ ! You must tell him for I am sure of his attractions to you! I see how his eyes watch where my hands are placed on your waist. If I were to lower my hands any further,” he moved his hands slowly as he spoke, making Perrette gasp lightly at the warmth of his hands, “his face would scrunch up like he was eating my mothers lemon sorbet. Just like that.” He motioned his head over to where Olivier was standing.

Perrette chanced a look and was surprised to see the look on her friend’s face, scowling and scrunched up. She was hardly aware of the way that Charles was looking at her, his eyes softening and his hands trembling as they slowly glided back to the appropriate position on her back.

“You are right,” Perrette murmured. “I must tell him, but I know not how!”

“Just use the words that sounds  _ splendide _ .” Charles said, his voice rough around the edges as he watched Olivier scrunch his brow and motion his head at Perrette. “Go to him, speak your mind,  _ mon chéri. _ ”

Perrette looked up at him and lightly kissed his cheek, her eyes glistening with joyful tears.

“Thank you,  _ mon cher ami _ .” She whispered before parting from him  and making an excuse to her mother to go and freshen up in the toilet.

Charles watched her go, a little piece of his heart breaking slightly. He had entered the courtship with every intention of trying to survive. His father had forced his hand in this and so he would have to be obedient in living out his father’s wishes. But Perrette Beaufay was a lovely girl with the stars in her eyes. 

He scowled as he remembered the dreams he had had, of flames and her beautiful green eyes catching his on the other side, dying of the same fate as him. He had read several scripts and books that he could scavenge together of the religious ideas of reincarnation, wondering if it were to be true and if he had met this beautiful girl once in some past life. His soul screamed that he was right, it clicked as his eyes met hers and sparks spread across his skin as he watched her give her bread to that poor woman. 

Charles knew love when he saw it and had seen how it shine in her eyes towards the maids son. He knew it was a doomed fate for them, an aristocrat and a common boy to fall in love, but he couldn’t help but allow her some sense of happiness since she must have met such an unhappy fate in her past life. He would follow his father’s wishes and marry this lively woman, keeping her safe from the dangers of this life and allowing her to be with her true love even if he couldn’t have her in return.

Olivier was concerned as Perrette met him in the abandoned garden shed that they used to play hide and seek in during the summers as they were children. It was far away from the festivities and no one would know how to navigate their way to them unless they knew the specific path to take. They were completely and wonderfully alone, much to their shared interest.

“ _ Mon cher _ , are you alright?” Olivier asked, his heart speeding up at the sight of tears in her eyes.

“Oh Olivier,” she gasped, out of joy and fear, “I cannot bear it any longer!”

“What is it? Are you ill?” Olivier asked, placing a hand on her forehead.

She gaped up at him, completely intoxicated by the summer air around them and how close his lips were to her.

“Forgive me,  _ mon cher ami _ .” She whispered, lunging forward and catching his lips with hers.

Sparks exploded in her gut as Olivier gasped against her mouth, the velvety texture of his lips driving her crazy. She pressed further, opening her mouth to his and licking inside his mouth. She pulled him close, her hands gripping his coat, and her knees weak.

Olivier finally responded in kind, pressing forward and cupping her cheek tenderly. They pushed and pulled at each other, the sweet taste of each others mouths pulling them further down under the waves. It felt like drowning, yet she was breathing in all the water around her and  _ living _ instead of dying. It was pure magic and bliss, his large hands on her face and waist, pressing her against him. She never wanted it to end, she wanted to tangle herself up in him and stay there forever, ignoring the cruel world around them.

“ _ Mon amour, je t’aime.” _ Olivier whispered against her cheek.

She wanted to cry from the pure bliss of it all, she was forever grateful to Charles who could see their love from afar and push them together.

Many months later, Charles and Perrette Griffon were wed. Perrette had just turned sixteen, her beauty as striking as ever, and Charles was nearing eighteen. The wedding was grand and everyone of the town heard of it. Many common people whispered among the streets of the newly wed couple,  _ could this really be the kind nobles who gave out bread and sandwiches like they were flowers? _

They did not consummate the marriage that night, instead they sat on the bed and talked about the stars and Olivier. Charles wouldn’t admit it to her, but Perrette knew that her newly wed husband had a sort of fascination with her lover. She would catch him glancing at him, curiosity and fascination so clearly evident on his face as he sat there. And then sometimes in return, when Charles was looking away, Olivier would send him curious glances too. 

It was enough to spark her curiosity and she so desperately wanted to do something about it. She couldn’t explain her feelings and what she felt in the air between them. She felt the sparks whenever Olivier held her hand or brushed his lips against hers in the privacy of her quarters. But there was something heavy in her chest whenever she was on her morning walks with Charles. She felt something there inside of her, almost trying to claw its way out of her whenever she observed the rare smiles on his pale face. 

He cared for her tenderly, she observed. They had moved into one of his family private homes near the river and he had allowed her to bring Collette and Olivier, along with many of her household maids. He was always by her side whenever guests came calling, a steady hand on her lower back as their guests fired questions at them and demanded them to produce cute little children. He held her hand in a strong grasp whenever they were handing children food and some commoner screamed insults at them, blaming them for their parents mistakes and wrong doings for their country. He brought her tea in the mornings and the evenings whenever he could see the worry in her eyes after her mother came to see if she was carrying her grandchild.

One morning in particular, about ten months into their marriage, Perrette woke up from a violent dream. In the dream, she could see a man with the kindest eyes. He was threatening to look at, a broad chest, a long beard, and an axe in hand. But his eyes were the owner of the eyes she had dreamed of in her earlier years. He was a kind man, who looked upon her with such care that her soul felt moved. But then the dream switched and the man with the kind eyes was looking up at her with soulless eyes, a long gash across his neck and blood pouring down onto her lap. 

She cried for hours, only allowing people in one at a time. She allowed Collette in first to help her into a bath and to get her into some different nightclothes. Then she allowed in Olivier who kissed her face all over and rubbed her back, not asking questions but just sitting beside her as a wonderful support.

“I have never seen Charles so upset.” He finally spoke.

She turned to her lover in confusion, her eyes dried out of tears and her soul a little weary from the tiring dream.

“What do you mean,  _ mon beau _ ?” She whispered.

“I do think he loves you,  _ mon amour _ .” He whispered back. “But I don’t feel threatened by it anymore.”

She peered at him, begging him with her eyes to keep talking and explain himself.

“I truly believe that our souls fall in love with other souls, that they entwine together,  _ mon chérie.  _ I also believe that we are destined to fall in love more than once in our lifetime. I think that sometimes those different loves coincide together, that they tangle up and confuse us and our feelings, but I think it’s natural,  _ ma colombe _ .” Olivier ran a hand down Perrette’s beautiful, soft face.

“Do you love him too?” She whispered, in awe and curiosity.

He sat there pondering her words before slowly nodding.

“He has shown me great kindness, even for being  _ une petite merde _ .” The curse word caused the both of them to giggle at the accurate description of the tall man.

“When I was telling you the dream about those eyes,” she said as tears formed again in her eyes, “I think they were his eyes.”

She sat up and rang her bell, calling Collette in. The kind woman was getting old and greying, yet her smile stayed young and her acceptance of her son and Perrette being together warmed her soul truly. 

“Collette, can you bring in my husband?”

Charles came in hesitantly, eyeing the two of them sitting together and looking up at him with eyes shaped from the stars themselves. His heart beat a little faster as he studied the two of them, both so beautiful as they peered up at him with soft smiles on their faces.

“Are you faring well,  _ mon chéri _ ?”

Perrette grinned and beckoned him to sit down with her.

“Come here,  _ mon beau _ .” She whispered.

As he sat down, she reached forward and placed her hand on his cheek and stared into his eyes.

“Is this okay?” She asked, lowering her gaze to his lips.

His eyes widened and he peered over at Olivier, only to see the tan man smiling at him with a look of fondness in his eyes. He finally nodded his head and looked back to Perrette. She smiled, a beautiful look on her tear stricken face. 

Charles was suddenly overwhelmed by her soft lips on his for the second time ever, the first being their wedding day where it was just a simple press of lips to seal the deal. She pressed forward, her hands cupping his face with such tender love and care. As a boy he had never expressed emotion very much, being suppressed and shoved aside did a wonder on him. But now he felt a swell of everything he had never felt, it all came pouring out in tears that soaked his cheeks and got between their lips, providing a salty taste to their sweet kiss.

“I dreamed of you,” Perrette said boldly, smiling as her own tears dripped down her cheeks. “You were a brutal man but kind and soft with me. You cared and tended to me in the sweetest of ways, but you died in my arms. I dreamed of your eyes every night and finally I got to see that it was you, always you all along,  _ mon amour. _ ”

“You were in my dreams too,  _ cher _ ,” Charles wept, wiping at his face. “I saw your eyes through the flames that burned us both.”

The three of them didn’t see to any of their visitors that day, the maids were told to send them on their way for the couple was ill and was resting. The three of them laid in Perrette’s bed and talked about Charles's readings on rebirth and what that signified for them and their dreams.

“My nanny told me that when I was born I was screaming and had a fiery fever,” Perrette muttered. “That makes sense and goes along with your dreams, Charlie.”

Charles grinned at his new nickname rolling off of his wife’s tongue.

“I think I was a little boy who died of the Black Plague.” Olivier muttered.

The other two looked up as Olivier reached down and tugged his shirt up to reveal scars on his stomach.

“My mother said they looked similar to the shape and size of the spots that would appear on skin.” 

He was quiet for a second before looking up at the two before him.

“But I don’t think I have any other lives behind me, no lost loved souls out there waiting for me, I think you two are my soulmates.” He whispered.

The political outrage in their country rose in great fervor. As Perrette grew pregnant with Charles’s child, they were shut up in their house for fear of what the commoners would do to them. There was an arrest made for the King, which caused him and his family to flee. There were stirrings going on in the city, people starting to set up large guillotines in the center of Paris. 

In that time, Perrette clung to her lovers as people ran through the streets and screams came in through the walls and windows. She was scared, she had wanted to do so much for the people who had so little than her, but she couldn’t do enough. So in return they were gonna kill her for the crimes of her family name. She woke up screaming sometimes, crying out for Charles and Olivier. They all had separate rooms, but sometimes they would all tangle up together, Perrette being placed in the middle of them.

She finally gave birth in December of 1772 to a healthy baby boy. The boy was named Theodore Griffon, he had the eyes of his mother and the blonde locks of his father. He was a quiet baby, curling his little hands around Perrette’s thumb tenderly and almost smiling whenever Olivier held him. Perrette secretly made a will and dubbed Olivier the guardian of her son if she and Charles were to die or something were to happen, she got her husband’s approval a few days later.

King Louis was guillotined on January 21st, 1973 and that’s when all hell broke loose in Paris. Perrette’s father was executed on February 15th, the crowd cheered maniacally as his head toppled to the ground. Perrette didn’t feel remorse, she didn’t know the man very well to feel anything for his death. 

Jacquette Beaufay was executed on March 30th, along with the man she had been bedding that evening when commoners stormed the estate and stripped them from their home. 

Charles father was executed next, on May 11th along with his wife. 

Two evenings later, Perrette woke up to yelling coming down the halls. Olivier was suddenly in her room, his eyes wide in panic.

“They have come,  _ mon amour _ .” He muttered.

She flung herself into his arms, kissing him passionately. She sobbed, already missing the spark that filled her veins at his touch and press of lips.

“I love you, my dearest, you understand? I will find you in this next life and love you just as tenderly as I do now.  _ Je t’aime _ ,  _ mon beau _ .” She promised.

Rough men pulled them apart and tugged her down the hall as she screamed for Olivier. She was thrown into a carriage along with Charles moments later. They grasped for each other, their hands squeezed together.

“This isn’t the first time we’ve been sent to our deaths together,  _ mon amour _ .” Charles whispered into her hair.

“We have endured three lives together now and everytime we never get to love each other for long.” She whispered back, tears dripping down her cheeks.

“I think it gets better every time,” he admitted, “we learn to love each other just as passionately and desperately as before. We just haven’t gotten into the right time to fully come into our love for each other.”

Perrette looked up into her husband’s eyes, swearing to herself she could see the galaxies of his soul in his eyes. This was the soul she was destined to fall in love with over time. She was destined to meet him, fall head over heels in love with his soul, and then die grasping for each other.

“We’ve always been so young,  _ mon amour _ .” She sobbed.

“We  _ will _ grow old together,  _ mon coeur _ .” He pressed a kiss to her forehead.

The following morning at dawn, Perrette was placed on the chopping block first. The crowd surged towards her, screaming and yelling the worsts insults she had ever heard. She looked into the crowd and only found angry faces screaming at her, but she suddenly locked eyes on the woman who had begged her for food that one fateful morning. She was stood there in the front row with tears in her eyes. 

“I’m sorry.” She mouthed to her, sorrow in her eyes as she reached forward and grasped her hand.

Perrette was suddenly struck with a vision of a redheaded woman with glasses perched on the tip of her nose. This woman was magical, tall, and family to her, she knew this by a sense she got. She had misty grey eyes that seemed charged with something powerful. Those eyes were in this woman’s eyes before her now. Suddenly it struck her.

“Auntie?” She murmured as the guillotine was released and the woman squeezed her hand.

Charles sobbed into his hands as he watched his wife’s head topple over, her hand still in the old woman’s in front of her in the crowd. The woman met his eyes and smiled knowingly, a sad look in her misty grey eyes. She held his hand too, guiding his soul onwards to follow after his lovers into the next life.

Olivier raised little Theodore as if he were his own, telling him fantastical stories of his mother and father and how they had been a match made in heaven. He would get misty eyed as he told these stories, but he needed to let his lovers child know of her legacy. 

He died in his sleep from an unknown cause. The staff of the house were so befuddled by Olivier’s sudden death, but Theodore was calm in telling everyone that his father was guided home to rest in his mother’s arms at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Je m'excuse,mademoiselle : I'm sorry, miss  
> garçon : boy  
> Connard : asshole  
> Mon Amie : my friend  
> Mon Amour : my love  
> Mon cher amie : my dear friend  
> Mon Cher : my dear  
> Magnifique : magnificent  
> Peutêtre : perhaps  
> Chéri : darling  
> Ma colombe : my dove  
> agréable à l'oeil : pleasant to the eye  
> Mon amour, je t’aime : I love you, my love  
> Mon beau : my beautiful  
> une petite merde : a little shit  
> Je t’aime, mon beau : I love you, my beautiful  
> mon coeur : my heart


	4. Kathryn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> May 14th 1921 Kathryn Smith was born to Irene Lorraine Smith and Hugo James Smith in New York City in their top floor suite. Kathryn didn’t think about her childhood, so there was nothing to even ponder about here. It was pointless, she’d rather focus on her current victories and settlements, thank you very much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably the most triggering chapter with mentions of abuse, psychological abuse, physical abuse, rape, slight alcoholism, male dominated fear and hatred, anxiety, war related death and injuries, mentions of bombings, mentions of gunshot related deaths, depression, hopelessness, and suicide attempts. I made myself sad writing this, so if you don't like any of these topics I would suggest handling this chapter with care or skipping over it.
> 
> But anyways, I hope you enjoy! After this chapter is released I'm going to release the final one! Thank you so much!

May 14th 1921 Kathryn Smith was born to Irene Lorraine Smith and Hugo James Smith in New York City in their top floor suite. Kathryn didn’t think about her childhood, so there was nothing to even ponder about here. It was pointless, she’d rather focus on her current victories and settlements, thank you very much.

“Smith, Kathryn.” The head nurse called out.

Kathryn bounced up, excitement in her veins as she walked up to the desk and accepted her nurses clothes; a white dress, some knickers, a set of black heels, a set of hair nets, and a white Red Cross official hat. 

Kathryn had come to the Red Cross six months prior to start training in the field of becoming a nurse. There was a thrill of chatter and murmuring in the news and papers that the war across the ocean might be reaching the american shores any day now, so the war recruitment was coming in full swing. The Red Cross needed nurses skilled enough to stitch together wounds, apply bandages, and assess injuries for any US soldier in need of medical treatment.

She had gone through college and gotten the proper education to become a nurse, so she was fully qualified for such a job. She met several other girls through the Red Cross training program, Lucy Danvers, Betty Jones, Florence “Nightingale” Hale, and sweet Gladys O’Neil joined her from their college days. The girls were all very nice to her, welcoming her into their group and all studying together. They would go to dances together on the weekend, dancing at the club just down the corner and Kathryn would sip her fruity drink and watch her friends dance with fancy soldier boys.

Kathryn had never found the clubs to be all that enjoyable. Boys were always eyeing her up and down with their seductive eyes, trying to grab her and lead her off to do their bidding. She couldn’t stand it, so she would spend these evening drinking her fill at the bar.

She and the girls were being shipped out to Pearl Harbor, Hawaii anyways, she didn’t have time for flirting with danger. They would be able to go and lounge on the beach and bask in the sun all day while seeing the cute soldier boys walking by as Kathryn scoffed at them. Lucy liked to tease Kathryn about her lack of a boyfriend or any activity whatsoever. Not that she minded, nothing would change her mind where boys and angry men were concerned.

“Do you secretly like one of us and are trying to ravish us in our sleep, pumpkin?” Lucy joked as they packed their bags for the flight to the Hawaiian islands.

“If I wanted to ravish one of you you would have known by know!” She defended herself.

In reality, Kathryn felt like love didn’t exist. Her mother had given birth to her and a couple months later, her father left them for a fancy younger girl into the whole party scene when Irene had to quit it to take care of their newborn daughter. Irene Smith was a beautiful woman, her mother was strong and proud. But she had seen her mother go through relationships and get tossed around like she was nothing. 

The men in her mother’s life just lived to disappoint young little Kathryn. She grew up second guessing herself and everyone around her. It was something she was a little bit upset about but she couldn’t help it. She had stayed out of stupid decisions and relationships for this long, she could survive a little longer and maybe meet someone nicer on the way. But that night her friends weren’t having her solitude and dragged her to the club with them, forcing her onto the dance floor.

“C’mon, Evie! You’re a pretty girl! Live a little!” Lucy exclaimed, swinging their arms together to the lively tune.

Kathryn tried to allow herself to get into the moment, having fun with her friends and making at least some memories. But all around her she kept seeing the eyes of strangers straying on her behind and breasts. She wanted to deck them in the face and shout at her friends for being so goddamn stupid in allowing these monsters to stray too close.

“Oh Betty!” Florence exclaimed over the music and the other dancers and soldiers chatting merrily and singing along. “Isn’t that Howard Stanley?!”

Betty gasped and giggled as the group of girls turned their heads to the front of the club where a group of soldiers entered. Kathryn rolled her eyes as the girls shouted and motioned for a couple of them to come over. She tried to fade into the crowd, but Gladys grabbed her arm.

“Hey, you can come powder your nose with me after we meet them, okay? Give them a chance.” She said in her sweet, low voice.

Kathryn smiled, or at least she tried to, it looked more like a grimace than anything. The group of soldiers approached them, all of them grinning and handsome. She wanted to sink through the floor, they were the perfect combination of the worst man imaginable.

“Hey Jack! I didn’t realize you was still in town.” Lucy greeted, her eyes focused on a brunette boy with a grin that matched hers.

“I’m here for one night and one night only, baby doll! Dance with me like it’s our last?” He offered his hand to her.

“I need to introduce my friends to yours first!” She giggled, motioning to Betty. “This here’s Betty, I think you’ll like talkin’ to Andrew, he likes jazz music like you do.” 

Betty grinned and allowed a black haired guy to sweep her onto the dance floor.

“This here’s Florence, you’ll really like Mack. He’s into those murder mystery books you like.”

Florence blushed as a red haired boy grinned and reached his hand out to her.

“You like Nancy Drew too, doll?” He asked as he lead her out to dance.

Lucy grinned and pulled Kathryn over more into the spotlight.

“This here’s Kathryn, I think you’ll really like chatting with Howard.” She was shoved forward towards a tall blonde man.

Kathryn frowned and looked up at the guy, observing him and his features. The guy had wavy blonde hair that was gelled back in the same fashionable cut like everyone else. He had almond shaped brown eyes and a shit-eating grin that had something churning in her stomach. She hated it, wanted it to stop so that she could think straight.

“Well damn darling, I’m not an art piece to pick apart with your beady eyes!” The guy, Howard, joked.

Kathryn scowled and narrowed her eyes, grabbing Howard’s hand and pulling him on the dance floor.

“Let’s get this over with Harry—”

“Er, it’s Howard, doll.”

“I don’t care.” Kathryn snapped, instantly feeling bad at the look on the guy’s face. “Look, I’m sorry, it ain’t your fault. Lucy is insufferable and wants me to get out more often.”

“And you obviously don’t like that idea,” Howard summarized, grinning as he grabbed her hands, “let’s give them a show then sweetheart.”

She frowned and scrunched her brow as she allowed him to sway her to the beat.

“Why are you not—”

“—taking you for my own gain? I’m no unhonorable prick, Miss Kathryn! Your consent in the matter is important and it don’t make anything fun when an unhappy gal like yourself is forced into a date.” 

He seemed genuine enough, or he was just playing some long and drawn out game to toy with her. But a part inside of her gut was screaming that he wasn’t doing any of that. 

“So tell me about yourself Howard.” She said, trying to make conversation as the beat of the music changed to another fast moving dance.

“I’m from Brooklyn,” he said, his accent sounding more genuine when he spoke, “I was sent out here to Seattle for bootcamp and training before I’m to be shipped off to Pearl Harbor.”

“Ahhh you’re a Brooklyn boy!” She said with a chuckle, “I knew you’re accent was familiar.”

“You ever been out there?” He asked as he pulled her in close.

It was weird, she definitely knew it and thought it, but dancing with him almost felt  _ familiar _ .

“Yeah, once, I was born in the big city. My mom moved us far away over to Chicago after her second husband cheated on her, the city held way too many memories for her.” SHe found herself saying.

The words came out nonchalant, but she was aware that her eyes had grown a little colder.

“That’s real tough doll, I’m sorry about that.” Howard said, his brown eyes getting soft and concerned.

“You have nothin’ to apologize for!” Kathryn exclaimed, tripping over her feet.

“Well on behalf of the men who seem to have let you down, I feel like I want to.” He stopped their dancing and grasped her hands.

“My momma raised me to be kind and respectful to every woman I come across, so i am very upset that you seem to have such little trust for us. If you’d like me to walk you back to your apartment so you don’t have to suffer this anymore, I’d be more than willing.” He said, his eyes searching hers for an answer.

Kathryn could only nod dumbly, watching as Howard bid his goodbyes to his pals and headed back towards her, handing her his large army jacket.

“It’s sprinklin’ a wee bit, doll, you keep your pretty curls safe under there.” He winked playfully, definitely not flirtatiously.

Kathryn allowed him to link his arm through hers as they walked. They were silent, usually talking about a song they both enjoyed or an old memory. This gave Kathryn a lot of time to think  and ponder how odd Howard Stanley really was. He teased and joked like the other guys she had ever met, but he was polite and kind to her. It was odd, completely and totally odd for a guy like him to be the dream boy she had dreamed up at a hopeful young age.

“I’m going to Pearl Harbor as well,” she blurted out, “I’m gonna be a Red Cross nurse.”

“Oh yeah? Maybe I can take you dancin’ again?” He asked, grinning widely at her.

She looked up at him, trying not to scowl. She always heard that question but a more deviant and sinister grin was placed along with it. She eyed this mystery man, who was kind and also a male, and considered the pros and cons.

“Maybe so, Mr. Stanley.”

“Oh my, my pa is Mr. Stanley, just call me Howard.” He said with a loud laugh.

“Okay then, Just Howard.” She grinned at her own joke, surprised that he laughed along with her.

“That’s a good one! You came up with it yourself?” He asked as they stopped in front of her apartment complex.

She blushed and nodded her head.

“Well I think you are an odd bird, Kathryn.” He said with a hint of fondness in his tone.

She looked up at him, once again trying to analyze him.

“I would love to get to know you better, maybe more so in Hawaii if we cross each other’s path. Can I get your address of where you’ll be staying?” He asked politely.

“Why do you want to get to know me, Howard?” She asked, her voice rough with something that scared her a little, it sounded close to tears.

“You’re a swell gal, Kathryn! You don’t fawn over me and wait for me to make the moves.” he paused and slowly grabbed her hand, looking her in the eye to check if it was an okay gesture. “I don’t want to use you for any wicked sexual fantasies, I don’t want to pop a ring on your finger just because you’re a pretty girl. You are genuinely an interesting woman and I would love to get to know the rest of you.”

Her eyes burned, the first time in years that she had cried and she felt sick because of that. But she didn’t get mad at him for triggering that in her. He seemed genuine and maybe she could trust him somewhat.

“I’ll go grab my address for you then, wait here.” She muttered, motioning for him to stay put as she unlocked her door and rushed inside.

She grabbed the envelope off of her desk that held the information she had for where she was staying. She grabbed an extra pad of paper and jotted the address down on it. She ripped it out and rushed back to the front door where Howard was leaning against the rail looking up at her with wide, hopeful eyes. She paused, taking in the glistening look in his eyes. It made his brown eyes seem magical and eerie, almost as if it was a color that didn’t exist just yet. It sent shivers down her spine as she handed him the piece of paper.

“You better make it to the islands safe then, Howard. I’ll be waiting and peering over my shoulder for you.”

He beamed a great big smile up at her, making his eyes glow more. It sparked something in her chest and she really didn’t want to think about it, it was so overwhelming. This tall, army boy was making her feel a certain way and she really didn’t want to, but she was being tugged and pulled into his orbit without her permission. She didn’t think she could stop it if she tried.

“I’ll see you over the seas, Kathryn.”

The he kissed the top of her forehead before bidding her goodnight.

Kathryn thought about that kiss long and hard as she sat up in her bed. She tried to fake sleep as her friends came back from partying and dancing, but her eyes couldn’t close. Howard’s grin and the feel of his lips were overwhelming her mind. 

She eventually fell asleep, but that night she dreamed of two lovers dancing in a garden, violins strumming in the background and the smell of summer surrounding them.

Pearl Harbor was beautiful. The palm trees seemed to beckon her further into the island, the sun soaking underneath her skin, and the ocean spray marking her as their own. She fell in love with the place immediately and she knew that she didn’t want to go back to rainy and cold Seattle. They drove by the base, the whole way her heart ached to look for Howard in the troops all training out on the front lawns, but she forced herself to look forward.

They got settled in their house, all five girls rooming together in the same boarding house. It was a beautiful home with a view of the beach down below the hill. It was heavenly and it all felt like a dream come true. That night, Lucy deemed it worthy to go and meet the local boys at the bar in town. Kathryn was dragged along, even though she so desperately didn’t want to. 

The bar was open to the beach, people littering on the beach and inside on the dance floor as well. There was music playing loud and grooving through the jukebox in the corner and soldiers littered the dance floor. Kathryn wanted to roll her eyes at having to see the same tan suits she had to see every day already. She couldn’t escape their stupid, cocky grins! She joined her friends at the bar and they took a few shots together, Lucy and Betty giggling already as a soldier offered to buy their next round. 

Lucy was eventually hauled onto the dance floor, Betty joining not too long afterwards, then Florence started a conversation with a man in a Hawaiian shirt in the corner reading a book where she eventually got him to join her on the dance floor. Even Gladys found someone to dance with, she sent Kathryn a look before she jumped up from her seat and moved in with the crowd.

She took a deep breath and exhaled, really wanting to smack her head against the bar.

“Long day, hon?” A voice spoke to her suddenly.

Kathryn peered up and noticed the bartender was standing right in front of her, cleaning a glass and grinning at her.

“More like a long eternity.” She groaned sarcastically.

“Oh yeah, I understand! Having to deal with all these yayhoos is quite the experience, lemme tell you that.” He said with a grin.

She sat up straighter, trying not to wobble from the couple of shots she had already consumed. She dragged her eyes across the man, taking in his tan skin, wearing a tight white shirt and a loose fitting sky blue Hawaiian button up, and his big brown eyes. He was an islander, but he didn’t have the thick accent she had heard from some of the natives she had already met. His smile was bright though and it honestly made her want to smile too.

Gross.

“Do you usually make small talk with women sitting alone?” She asked, raising her brow.

“I like to make small talk with anyone who will listen! My mom says that I talk to much and too fast, I like to think it’s a compliment.” The guys says with a wide grin.

“Maybe you should ask her if it is or not,” she leaned forward to add to the effect, “I’m thinking it’s a no.”

“My my, you’re a snarky one aren’t you!” The guys said with chuckle. He extended his hand out to her to shake. “My name’s Hanalei, but you can call me Henry.”

“Why Henry?” She asked.

“That’s the english version of my name,” Henry explained. “My mom is native and my dad was from Kentucky.”

“That’s very random, how’d they meet?” She couldn’t help but snort at the random state being mentioned.

“He’s a pilot, he flew here one day and he fell in love with the island and its people. That’s when he met my mom and they started dating, but he flew back to the states to live out the rest of his pilot contract flying for the company he worked for. Then he took his own personal plane and flew back here to make a repair shop for the military to use in assistance.” Henry said, as he started wiping glasses again. “But he died of a heart attack a couple of years ago, so the shop is being run more fully by the military with my mom’s approval of things.”

“Wow, I’m sorry for your loss.” Kathryn straightened up, feeling bad suddenly.

“No it’s fine,” Henry grinned, “death is apart of life you know. And I know that his soul has moved on and he will find a life somewhere else.”

Kathryn scrunched her brow at him in confusion.

“What do you mean?” She asked.

“Oh I’m sorry! It’s what I’ve grown up knowing, it’s all honestly normal for me and I always forget that others aren’t aware of it.” He apologized, clearing his throat dramatically, “it’s the idea of rebirth, or as it’s called reincarnation. It’s the belief that souls carry on in this lifetime to other physical lives. Basically you are born again over and over again through history and time, you never really die in a sense, you just take on a new identity in each lifetime.”

Kathryn just stared at him, something about his speech making sense to her. But she couldn’t put her finger on it of what made sense. It sounded absolutely insane is what it sounded like, but there was something that sent goosebumps down her spine, almost like a sense of deja vu.

“So you believe this about everyone?” She asked.

“In a sense, what my mom and I believe (which is different than other beliefs, there’s many separate beliefs of reincarnation you know?) is that those souls who have something unfinished or died too early without accomplishing something move onto a new life to try and achieve that. There are cases where people find out they have lived in another life before or they have lived two different lives.” He explained, waving his hands as he spoke.

“How do you know if you’ve lived in a past life?” Kathryn was torn between thinking the topic was absurd and that it was eerie and creepy in a way she couldn’t explain.

“My mom is a psychic, so she can sense people’s souls and read them. She has proven herself legitimately, she read that a woman was pregnant and basically told the woman what the child was going to look like. Turns out, everything my mother read about came true. I honestly believe my mother is legit, I’ve seen what she can do and read.” Henry said.

“So she can just sense a person’s past life? What if there isn’t a psychic to do that?” Kathryn asked, totally interested now.

“The symptoms of figuring out if you’ve lived in a past life would be if there are any fears you have that you can’t explain. They are just kind of there and threatening in your mind.” Henry said. “For example, my mother believes I died of being stabbed in a past life for being with another man and I’ve always had an unnatural and unexplainable fear of knives.”

“You were with a man in your past life? O-Or you believe you were?” She scowled at her mistake, realizing she was being pulled in too deep.

“Yeah, my mother says that she saw his face, that he has kind eyes and that he was my protector in that life because I was victimized. Being a Chinese immigrant in America after the Transcontinental Railroad was tough you know?” Henry said with a shrug, not even giving a damn over being with a man.

Kathryn admired that for some reason. Every child grew up hearing stories of fags and queers being targeted and killed, queer bars being found and everyone being arrested for the sexual acts they made. But for some reason, that never settled right in Kathryn’s mind. There was something sickening about that, arresting someone for just that reason.

“So you have a fear of knives….” She said slowly, putting the pieces together. “I have never been able to get in a pool.”

She paused, realizing admitting that outloud was  _ very  _ strange and odd how it seemed to match what Henry was talking about. 

“I’ve always had a fear of fire too… and large crowds…” she mumbled, her mind drifting off.

Henry stopped what he was doing and stared at her for a second before setting the glass down.

“Would you like to meet my mom? Maybe she can answer some questions you have.” Henry suggested.

Kathryn couldn’t help being a little skeptical. She didn’t want to hear a load of rubbish and just believe what some phony told her. But something inside of her urged her to nod her head and accept the invitation. Maybe some answers and talking her problems out would help her, a sense of therapy in a way.

“Well hey, I get off in just a couple of minutes. Would you like me to walk you home?” Henry asked, swinging his rag over his shoulder.

“Sure thing.” She agreed, taking a sip of the water Henry had made for her at the beginning of their conversation.

She sat there talking with Henry for the next few minutes before the new bartender came over and switched places with him. Henry came from around the bar, just a couple of inches taller than her, and offered her his arm. She took it and followed him out of the bar.

“So, do you want to tell me about your fear of men? You never mentioned that in your list of fears.” Henry asked.

Kathryn whipped her head over to the man, eyes wide at his blunt question.

“Sorry to be invasive, it was just an observation.”

“I do not fear men.” She said through gritted teeth.

“I think you do though, and please don’t take offence! Fear is a common thing in us as humans, it’s completely normal and accepted. So something must have happened to make you so distrusting.” Henry spoke, a little softer than he had in the bar, but just as rushed and jumbled as it had been before.

She pondered it, the reality of fear and the normality about it.

“My mother was mistreated so much, cheated on, played and toyed with, I guess I’ve just grown up disgusted by it. All I’ve known my entire life is that men are just here to taunt and tease and pick apart women just because they feel like it and can. They are stronger physically and can overpower us, so why do they see that they have the right to own us and toy with our emotions? My mother is a shell of a woman because she was beaten, played, and tossed aside so many times. She has so much anxiety and smokes like there’s no tomorrow. It’s their fault, they ruined my goddamn mother—”

She choked on a sob that she didn’t even realize was there before she was out of breath and breathing heavily. Henry gently placed a hand on her arm, lifting her face to look into his eyes. He had big, wide eyes that searched hers with pity and remorse mixed in them.

“My mom is great, talking with her is like nothing you’ll ever experience. I can come and pick you up tomorrow morning if you’d like?”

Kathryn nodded her head vigorously, not because of the compelling mystery of her being psychic, but because she just wanted it all to stop. She didn’t want to have to be this upset and angry with the world for reasons she couldn’t understand or make anyone feel.

That night, to her utter annoyance, her childhood nightmares came back.

She woke up the next morning shaking, vague and fuzzy memories coming to the forefront of her mind of her nightmares and from meeting Henry at the bar. She got up and made herself coffee, put on a fresh set of clothes, and put on some makeup to cover up the dark spots under her eyes. Henry arrived sharply at nine with a beaming smile, opening the door to his jeep with a warm greeting for her.

They pulled up to a small, white house with a palm tree in the front yard. It had a beautiful green yard and gorgeous hibiscus flowers surrounding the perimeter of the house. A short woman opened the door and greeted them as they got out of the car.’

“Mom, this is the friend I was telling you about, Kathryn, Kathryn this is my mom Kailani.” Henry introduced.

Kailani smiled in greeting, taking her hand in hers and pressing a kiss on top of her open palm.

“Ooooh boy,” she murmured with a chuckle. “You have a very complicated and beautiful soul, my dear. Let’s get inside and get comfortable.”

The inside of the house was fresh and clean, bamboo trimming and white walls with beautiful paintings of hibiscus flowers and the ocean hung around. 

“You have a beautiful home.” Kathryn commented, sitting down in the chair across from Kailani.

“Thank you, my dear,” she thanked with a smile, pulling out a pad of paper and closing her eyes. “Alright let’s get started.”

She sat there for a couple of seconds in silence before speaking.

“I like to sit here and let my mind wander, allow my third eye to open up and sense whatever is going on in your spirit and what seems to be bothering you.” She paused and hummed, opening her eyes and turning to her fully.

“You are troubled my dear, I see it in the tremors in your hands and in the wrinkles by your eyes. You are an old soul, my dear, a very old soul with years of torture and violence in your past.” Kailani spoke, her voice filled with remorse and a heavy tone.

Kathryn sat there, quiet, absorbing it all.

“Your soul was born many years ago! Woooow, my dear, you are truly an old soul!” The older woman gasped, scribbling on her notepad as she closed her eyes.

“What do you see mom?” Henry asked, who was seated across from them on the couch.

“Vikings, you were taken by vikings in the 8th century in Ireland.” Kailani said, nodding her head. 

Kathryn’s jaw dropped.

“But they were kind to you, you wanted to leave with them! You are tormented now with nightmares of your father beating and raping your mother, threatening to do the same to you if you didn’t wield a sword right.” Kailani let out a sound similar to a sob. “How horrible, he was a ruthless man and pushed you to become too strong and too defensive. He taught you that women were weak, that they were easy to take down for their own and claim. But the Vikings took you in and nurtured you into your strength and womanhood.”

She smiled, humming.

“Yes, you were taken in by a kind woman who raised as if you were her own. But, there’s someone else…” she broke off and grinned suddenly. “ _ Him, _ the one with kind eyes. He was there to help train you and show you the kind and tenderness of love.”

“Wait mom, you mean  _ the _ kind eyed man?” Henry interrupted.

“Yes! It’s definitely his eyes, his soul that was here for Kathryn.” She murmured. “He died in your arms, Kathryn, and that ruined you. You avenged him and tried to bury him in his home but a storm threw you overboard and you drowned in the ocean.”

Kathryn stood up suddenly, her mind overflowing and her heart beating rapidly.

“Kathryn? What’s wrong?” Henry asked, standing up with her.

“Y-Y-You, how did you know that?” She stammered, pointing a finger at Kailani.

“What do you mean?” Henry asked.

She stuttered for a few seconds before collapsing back in her seat, tears streaming down her cheeks as she curled up within herself. Kailani reached forward and rubbed her hand on the troubled girl’s knee.

“I-I’ve never shared my nightmares with  _ anybody _ . How did you know about them?” She asked once again.

“I tell you the truth, my dear, I didn’t get this information elsewhere, I simply just sensed from your spirit.” Kailani said simply.

It took a few minutes for Kathryn’s mind to stop spinning.

“When I was six I had nightmares of a man yelling at me. My dad would come into my room to see if I was alright, but I would just scream and cry more because he looked just like the man in my dreams. When he left my mom and we moved to Chicago, she remarried and the dreams just got worse. I would have dreams where I would see this man beating a woman, I always called her mother in my mind even though I knew she wasn’t  _ my _ mom. But then I came home from school to find that my nightmare became reality. My stepdad was trying to rape my mom over our kitchen countertop because she had been working extra hours and couldn’t give him sex when he wanted it.

“We moved to Arizona because my mom met up with one of her cousins for a job opportunity. She met a guy and started dating and my nightmares escalated to the man threatening to do the same to me. I also had nightmares of flames taking over my body and I could never move. I found out I had sleep paralysis, that’s why I couldn’t move, but the nightmares were terrifying. Sometimes I would have a nightmare where a large crowd of angry people were screaming and spitting at me. I would look up and see a knife hanging above my head and then it would fall and I would wake up screaming.”

Kathryn stopped, gazing down at her hands in horror.

“Th-These are all memories then… right?”

Kailani had a hand over her mouth as she gazed at Kathryn with pity oozing from her eyes. Tears even glistened in her eyes as she settled a hand over Kathryn’s.

“I see that there is conflict for you in this life. There’s a lot of growth for you and things to be settled. I don’t think you met my son by coincidence and that you two share a past lover. In fact, I believe you have both had this same man in different lives entirely. Kathryn I see you in England, you were a witch!”

“That makes sense about the fire, she must have been burned alive…” Henry muttered.

“You were with the kind eyed man then, he learned of his love for you then and defended you from harm.” Kailani smiled at her as she scribbled and then turned to Henry.

“After that lifetime you, my son, met him in Italy. He was an artist and you modeled for him.” She grinned as he blushed bright red.

“Dude what?! What is with this mystery guy!”

“I see him approaching you two. It will come out of the blue but I think it will be short…” she broke off, scrunching her brow.

“But I see peace after this. This lifetime for you is going to be hard, Kathryn. It’s been a tough battle but this is the finale before you get to settle and have your answers to the questions ringing in your head.” 

Kathryn kept Kailani’s words in mind, considering them and how true they were going to be. Henry had dropped her back off at her house and made her promise to come visit the bar more often. She just didn’t realize how soon that would be.

A week later the door rang and she answered it to see Howard Stanley standing in front of her with a white pressed shirt and his military pressed pants. He grinned as she glanced up at him, taking note of his brown eyes in the back of her mind.

“It’s good to see you once again, would you like to go somewhere and chat about our recent adventures over drinks?”

This was subsequently the first date she had ever agreed to and she wasn’t going to think too hard about that. She slapped on some lipstick and joined him on the walk to Henry’s bar. They slipped into a booth in the back, ordering gin and whiskey and a plate of fish and chips to share between the two of them.

“So how has the past month or so been for you? Anything exciting happen?” Howard asked, dipping his chip in sauce.

“I found out I am an old soul and have lived in three different past lives.” She got out in one breath.

Howard choked and peered up at her with wide eyes.

“Wait what?!”

She took a deep breath and launched into the story, finding that she felt comfortable sharing it with him. His eyes freaked her out a bit, just because of how often Kailani brought up the brown, kind eyed stranger who was supposedly her “soulmate”, but she found that she actually loved the soft expression in them and how he smiled as he listened to her talk. But he definitely wasn’t smiling at the mention of her nightmares.

“I am truly sorry you had to suffer for years of constant torment,” he grasped her hand and massaged his thumb on her palm. “That sounds truly horrific.”

She smiled softly at his kindness, feeling something spark within her gut.

“What about you? How’s training here on the islands?”

“I’ve actually been pretty restless,” Howard admitted, a little sheepishly she noted, “I’ve been waiting for you to arrive.”

Kathryn felt her cheeks redden as she sipped at her drink.

“That sounds like you have a problem, Howard.” She stated.

“Oh? And what would that be called Kathryn?” He asked, grinning.

“Making poor, unsuspecting girls hopeful.” She accused lightheartedly.

“Hopeful of what, might I ask?” He asked with a wink.

“I believe it’s more gentlemanly of you to be the one to be making that move.”

“When has that stopped you?” He asked.

She paused and observed him, the hopeful glint in his eyes and the widening of his smile as she found herself grinning in response.

“Howard Stanley, how do you suppose you would react to another date with me?”

“Oh I believe I wouldn’t mind one bit!” He exclaimed in a girlish tone, making her laugh. “Pick me up at seven tomorrow?”

Henry grinned as she approached the bar to pay for the bill.

“He seems to have pretty kind, brown eyes, doesn’t he?” He teased.

“Yeah, maybe he’s into painting this time around again?” She jabbed back at him.

Henry snorted with laughter, his cheeks red in embarrassment.

“He does have an excellent looking ass, you pick them well!” He commented as Howard stood up and turned to stretch, his ass in direct view of them.

The two of them grinned appreciatively.

“Maybe I’ll see if you can tap it too, or maybe he is only into the models.” She patted Henry’s arm in mock sympathy.

“Geez! Let it go! I was a model in a past life, perhaps a nude model, but at least I was getting some!” Henry exclaimed with a loud laugh.

Howard and Kathryn went on several more dates throughout the summer and into the months leading into the fall. Howard was every sense a perfect gentleman, always bringing her hibiscus flowers and respecting her wishes. He gave her his coat when they would walk by the ocean and the wind would get cold and brisk at dusk, and he would open doors for her everywhere they went. By September they were officially dating and Kathryn felt something content in her life.

No one had ever had that effect on her before, making her life somewhat bearable. Gladys had been a good friend of hers throughout college, always there to hear her rants about men and the idiocy of it all, but no one had changed her heart and remolded it in front of her eyes. She felt changed, renewed and with an even brighter and stronger sense of the life ahead of her.

She was also doing a lot of training with the Red Cross, which was amazing and vital to her knowledge in the field. There were occasional soldiers who came in need of stitches or bandages over stupid jokes or pranks on base, but nothing was ever too serious. She never had to worry about Howard.

“Kat,” his voice was near her ear as they sat on the edge of the beach and watched the sun set. “Kat, I think I’m in love with you.”

She peered over at him and smiled, taking in his brown eyes.

“I think I’ve been in love with you for a while too, Howard.” She whispered.

“I think I believe you about past lives.” He spoke again. “You’re eyes have always been familiar for me.”

She tilted her head at him.

“I would say the same about you, the psychic I talked to said that there’s been a man in my past with kind brown eyes.” Kathryn smiled and ran a hand down the side of her boyfriend’s face, “you have the kindest and most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen.”

He kissed her passionately, his lips parting and his tongue seeking entrance into her own, which she gladly gave.

“I want to be with you forever, even if that means in the next life or hell, when we finally die and our souls ascend, I want to be by your side.” He murmured into her ear as he slid on top of her and kissed the soft spot behind her ear.

She gasped, one being in pleasure of his sudden weight on her, and two being amazed at how true his confession was for her. Their souls had glided side by side, sometimes allowing others to glide with them, but they were always there for each other.

It was a cold, horrific shock when the Japanese attacked their peaceful, beautiful island. Kathryn woke up that morning with plans to go on a walk around the island with Howard, but instantly she was being jostled awake and having to rush down to the hospital. They were forced into their skirts and hats, opening the doors to screaming and howling soldiers in pain.

There was so much going on that Kathryn wasn’t even sure what was reality anymore. She had heard from one soldier that a bomb hit one of the boats, causing it to sink, that there were planes going around and shooting at civilians below, and there were explosions going off on the town.

It was like hell on earth, being surrounded in blood and guts and sobbing men. Her hands were covered in the blood of her men, all of it mixing together and making it feel like she was seeing stars by how nautious she was feeling. Hours went by of constant medical attention being administered. She kept searching the faces of the soldiers, praying that Howard didn’t end up being on of them.

But cold shock spilled over her spine when a soldier carried in a limp body in his arms.

“We found a civilian amongst the rubble.” He said, placing the body down on the ground.

She knew that sky blue Hawaiian shirt anywhere.

She puked in the corner and tried not to cry. Seeing her dear friend dead was too much for her heart to handle, but she had to stay strong. She had a job to do. So she set his body aside, already knowing he was dead and that there was nothing else she could do for him besides bury him with his mother later.

The bombing and gun shots had stopped and the fires were put out. The Arizona had sunk under the water, taking several thousand soldiers down with it. She still hadn’t found Howard. It took days of searching and organizing the dead. But she finally found him, along the list of the dead put together. He had died trying to help men escape the Nevada, but was the casualty of one of the Japanese guns. It had flown over and the shot got him directly in the chest. 

Her beautiful and wonderful Howard died saving his friends and men. She was allowed to see his body, since the commissioner knew that she was his late girlfriend. His eyes would never reflect the kindness back up to her. She was left in a world of despair and evil men once again. He had shown her kindness and beauty, now there was none of it. 

Henry was her dear friend, his kindness knew no bounds with her as well. If they had gotten to know each other for even longer, she might have even admitted a slight attraction to him as well as to Howard. Her two boys were gone in the period of a day, a horrible day that ruined the beautiful daydream she had been living.

She didn’t know how to move on without them. She was lost and trapped in this world once again. She broke down in her room, throwing dishes and glass at the wall, screaming for the lives of her beloveds. Life had a horrible sense of humor with her stupid, long life.

Gladys was the one to stop her madness. She opened the door and dragged Kathryn from her room.

“You have to move on, Kathryn.”

“I can’t, Gladys, I j-just can’t. They were mine, you know? They were my boys and I lost them. They were all I had in this world.” She sobbed, tears choking up her throat.

“I’ve got you, you know?” Gladys murmured to her.

Kathryn laughed, nodding her head.

“Yeah, that’s why I can’t do this anymore. I won’t do that you you, Gladys.”

Gladys had been a good friend to Kathryn in college. She was a quiet girl, always picking up on people’s ticks and habits. Kathryn had fascinated her, the self deprecation and loneliness was so tangible on the girl, she felt pulled to her to make it all better. But that’s how she figured out she couldn't do that. Kathryn was a doomed soul, destined to live through her mistakes and rise from them, reborn in the flames. She was strong and she didn’t need Gladys to change her. Instead she needed her constant support and someone to believe in her. 

So that’s what Gladys did best. She stuck with Kathryn, even towards the end. They traveled back to the states and Gladys bought them an apartment together so that Kathryn could cope and try to get back on track. Really, Gladys knew what turmoil was going on in her friend’s mind. She had seen how the girl lit up with Howard and Henry, the two had been the only chances of love and light she was going to experience.

So she wasn’t surprised to find her friend bleeding out in their bathtub one fateful Saturday morning. The gashes were long and deep, giving Kathryn only minutes left, given by how shallow her breaths were. She choked and gurgled a laugh as she looked up at Gladys.

“I’m gonna see them again, ya know? I’m gonna be with them….”

Gladys sat down at the edge of the tub and grasped her friend’s hand, massaging it softly.

“I wish you didn’t have to be in such pain, Kat.” She whispered, tears dripping down her cheeks.

“I’m not in pain no more,” Kathryn muttered, swallowing before she could keep talking. “I’m going to be reborn, auntie!”

Gladys entertained her delusions, smiling sadly as tears dripped down her cheeks.

In the end, Kathryn died once again, gripping the hand of a kind soul passed down through the generations.


	5. Sara

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sara Rubin was born as a special girl. She was a quiet baby who liked to smile a lot and didn’t have any grievances. She loved her mom and dad, always cooing and giggling when people showed their faces to her. She grew up as an adventurous and curious toddler, always wanting to figure things out and meet new people. She made friends pretty easily, she wasn’t outgoing so to speak but she loved just sitting down with the other kids and sharing her crayons with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's not a lot of triggers in this chapter, just some bullying, derogatory racial comments, homophobic slurs and towards the end of the chapter there is mentions of the past characters and their deaths. But basically Sara is a sweetheart and loves everybody (especially her boys), Shane is a nervous wreck and just as skeptical as we love him to be, and Ryan is a fanboy obsessed with literally everything. 
> 
> This chapter is basically a high school au of BFU with mentions of the Try Guys and other coworkers in the office and in videos. I had a lot of fun writing this!!! Thank you all for reading it and I hope you enjoy!

October 23, 1989

 

Sara Rubin was born as a special girl. She was a quiet baby who liked to smile a lot and didn’t have any grievances. She loved her mom and dad, always cooing and giggling when people showed their faces to her. She grew up as an adventurous and curious toddler, always wanting to figure things out and meet new people. She made friends pretty easily, she wasn’t outgoing so to speak but she loved just sitting down with the other kids and sharing her crayons with them.

In elementary school, Sara was inspired to start drawing by her second grade teacher. Mrs. Andrews was a young teacher and would draw silly portraits on the whiteboard to motivate her students into learning. She created little characters and stories to tell them, always having to do with the lesson of the day. Sometimes Mrs. Andrews would take submissions from the students, her favorite character to draw was C.C Tinsley, a mysterious detective that little Shane Madej had suggested with so much enthusiasm and a knowledge of crime cases and “gwiswy muwdews” as he put it.”

Shane Madej and Sara were neighbors, Shane’s parents met her own at a neighborhood barbecue luncheon and they started having coffee dates all together and introducing their children to each other. At first, Sara was a little scared of Shane. He was a boy and she had seen how the other boys on the playground liked to push the other little girls to the ground. So during these forced playdates, Sara just drew in the corner and didn’t talk much.

But one day during recess, as Sara was sitting alone she looked up to see the new girl entering the yard. She was dark skinned, a huge contrast to the white majority in the class and how they lived  _ literally _ in white suburbia, and Sara had an inkling that she was going to have a hard time making friends. Especially since her mommy had dropped her off that morning and she was wearing a scarf over her head! Sara didn’t want to be rude and stare, like the other kids, so she stayed quiet and kept her questions to herself. She wanted to talk to the girl, Amira was her name, but she didn’t want to give up her secret corner away from the bullies.

She wanted to cry a little as she looked up and watched a group of boys surround her, making her look uncomfortable and scared. Sara was about to stand up and give up her hiding spot when she noticed the Shane kid walk up, all smiles and innocence, and tap the main boy on the shoulder. Sara tip toed closer to hear what was going on.

“...I don’t think Amira wants to play chase with you guys.” Shane said.

“We don’t want to play chase with  _ her _ , she’s weird!” The kid, Matthew, said with a sneer.

The other boys all giggled and laughed as if it was the funniest thing ever. Sara’s throat felt like cotton as her eyes teared up in pity for Amira. 

“Hey Amira, do you wanna play with my magnifying glass? My dad just bought it for me and we can see the bugs and worms up close!” Shane suggested, grinning wide.

“She would probably eat your bugs, that’s what my daddy says they eat.” Matthew said, a disgusted look on his fat face.

As everyone laughed, Shane stopped smiling and slowly approached Matthew head on.

“My daddy told me that if you’re going to say something, then say something nice. Cause if you don’t have nuthin’ nice to say, then don’t say nuthin’ at all.” Shane said, deathly serious.

“The gay boy just quoted  _ Bambi _ !” Another boy said with a high pitched laugh.

“Hey, Caleb, how would you know that? Are you saying you’re gay too?” Shane fired at the kid.

Suddenly Caleb shoved forward and pushed Shane, but he looked like he knew it was coming, because before Sara could yell for a teacher Shane shot his fist forward and smacked it into Caleb’s face. Caleb cried out and smacked a hand over his face just as Matthew attacked Shane from behind.

Mrs. Andrews whirled her head around, her eyes wide as little Sara came running up to her, crying about bullies and a fight. She was a little surprised that Sara had come out of her corner to even see the fray, but she knew that it had to be something big to have happened to get her there. The boys were split up and sent to the office, meanwhile Mrs. Andrews took Amira and Sara aside to question them. Amira was in tears and a mess, but Sara had a hand clenched around the new girl’s hand and was whispering nice things in her ear.

“Can one of you tell me what really happened?” She asked patiently, smiling at the two girls.

Sara looked up at her with wide green eyes.

“Matthew was making fun of Amira and Shane just wanted to help her. He was trying to show her his magnifying glass but Matthew said something mean…” She trailed off, her face flushing as Amira cried harder.

“Can I ask what he said?” Mrs. Andrews asked.

Sara looked at Amira, as if asking permission and the girl nodded her head solemnly.

“H-He said that Amira would probably just eat the bugs that Shane was trying to see with his glass and then he called her weird…”

Mrs. Andrews sucked in a breath, trying to calm her composure in front of the children.

“Don’t worry girls, I will make sure that Matthew gets the right punishment, okay?” She said with a soft smile. “Now what happened next?”

“Shane told Matthew that if he wasn’t going to say something nice then he shouldn’t say nothing at all. Then Caleb called him gay for quoting Bambi and Shane said “how would you know that? Are you gay?” and then Caleb tried to attack him but Shane punched him and then Matthew tackled him.” Sara spoke, her voice getting high pitched and her words mixing together as she spoke rapidly.

Mrs. Andrews nodded her head, her mouth in a tight line as she listened to the retelling.

“I trust you and the truth Sara, I’ll make sure that Shane doesn’t get punished but rewarded for standing up for you, Amira.” She smiled at the girl.

Matthew and Caleb were suspended for three days and Shane just had to serve a lunch detention for swinging first. Sara was surprised to see Shane at her door the next day after school. He grinned at Sara as she tilted her head and asked why he was here.

“I came to say thank you for telling Mrs. Andrews what happened.” Shane said with a bright grin, reaching behind his back to reveal his magnifying glass. “Do you want to go to Amira’s house down the road and play with my magnifying glass?”

The three became close friends and on the school playground, Shane became known as the boy to stand up for the girls. The boys liked to tease him and call him gay and a fairy, but Shane didn’t even care. He liked Sara and Amira, they were nicer and they didn’t giggle and try and put lipstick on him like the other girls.

Sixth grade came along and Amira and her family had to move away because her dad got a promotion in his job, which was very sad for the trio. They threw her a goodbye party, all deciding to play with Sara’s dad’s new sprinkler system instead of going to the public pool since Sara found out she had a deathly fear of water. The three hugged each other tightly on their last day of school together before Amira left with her parents and moved away in a Uhaul the next day.

But the first day of sixth grade proved to be quite eventful. Sara found that a lot of the girls in her class were now trying to wear makeup and dresses, all giggling about boys and gossip magazines. Sara was excited because she got a new set of drawing pencils and the ability to make her hair look somewhat less like a giant birds nest with hairspray and combs. Shane walked with her to the middle school, telling her all about his new comic series he got. Over the summer, Shane’s mom and dad split up and his mom moved to Colorado to be with her new boyfriend and Shane had been pretty upset and sad. So it was a plus for Sara to see her best friend in a good mood now for their first day of middle school.

Sara got lost in the new building so many times that morning, it was very overwhelming. There were giant lockers and she had gotten a slip of paper with her locker number and combination on it, but she had to walk down a long series of halls before she finally found the sixth grade lockers. Then her first class was all the way across the other side of the building in the history wing. She ended up having to run all the way there in order to get there right as the late bell rung. She slipped into an empty seat and found herself sitting next to a short boy with big brown eyes and a giant grin.

“Hi there! I’m Ryan, Ryan Bergara and I’m new this year. Do you know where Mrs. Kingsley’s pottery class is next?” The boy asked.

Sara smiled sweetly, looking at his schedule and realising it was almost identical, she had a drawing class right next door to his upcoming class.

“I have drawing in B34, since your next class is B36, you can follow me there and we can find it together!” Sara suggested.

“Alright! What’s your name?” Ryan asked.

“Sara, Sara Rubin. It’s nice to meet you, Ryan.” She smiled brightly, shaking his outstretched hand.

The two became good friends, both of them loving history and whispering about their favorite people in history. Sara really liked Joan of Arc and she loved learning that there were female Vikings who had more rights that women in Europe at that time. Ryan liked the Renaissance and Roman times, chatting excitedly about mythology and fantastical stuff like that.

“Do you believe in ghosts, Sara?” Ryan asked as they walked to their art classes.

“I haven’t seen one myself, so I can’t say they  _ don’t _ exist. So maybe so!” Sara said with a laughed as Ryan fist pumped.

“Everyone tells me that I’m stupid for believing in that stuff! But I swear to you, this past summer my grandpa died and everytime I visit my grandma I swear I can feel his hand on my shoulder sometimes!” Ryan exclaimed, his eyes all wide with horror and excitement.

“Woaaaah, that sounds like a good story idea! My friend Shane likes to write, you should tell him about that! Do you want to find me for lunch and meet him?” Sara suggested as they came to the art hallway where they had to split paths.

“Sure thing! We could write a ghost story and you could draw it!” Ryan suggested.

Sara laughed heartily.

“Maybe!”

Shane ended up meeting Ryan sooner than lunch time, after second period was third period science. Shane was one of the firsts to arrive and sat up near the front. He really liked science okay! Sitting in the back was hard on his hearing and also his eyesight, his dad couldn’t afford it at the moment, but they were going to get his eyes checked out so he had to sit as far up front to the classes a possible for the time being.

Shane dug his books and binder out of his backpack, also digging out his comic series to read the next section before the bell rang.

“Oh dude! You like the Misty May Murder Series?! Me too!” A voice rang out from behind him.

Shane spun around to see a short boy with tan skin and wide brown eyes. He had a huge grin on his face that made his eyes sparkle. Shane smiled and nodded his head, a little too enthusiastically.

“Yeah, I wanna write my own stories one day. They probably won’t be as good as Misty May, but I wanna try.” Shane said with a blush, realizing he was speaking without realizing it again.

“Cool dude! Are you Shane? I met your friend Sara and she was telling me you like to write!” The boy said, plopping himself down behind Shane and extending his hand out with an even wider grin. “I’m Ryan, Ryan Bergara. I just moved here!”

“Yeah, I’m Shane,” Shane said with a chuckle, shaking the boy’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you Ryan. You must be special, Sara doesn’t just make friends with anyone.”

“Sara is pretty cool! I saw some of her drawings in her journal, I couldn’t help but peak, she’s really good!” Ryan gushed.

“Yeah, she’s really good.” Shane said fondly of his friend.

Middle school became somewhat bearable for Sara now that she had Ryan as a friend. People didn’t know what to think about him, he was nerdy and liked to talk about science and history, but he was good at basketball and baseball and joined the two teams eagerly. Sara liked her friend, he confused people just like she did and Shane; he fit in perfectly to their little group.

Eighth grade rolled around and Ryan was the point guard of the basketball team and was fastly approaching being the best batter on the baseball team. Shane had joined baseball too, he wasn’t as good as Ryan but he did well on the team and improved quite well. Sara joined the school newspaper so that she could have an even better excuse to go to Ryan’s games and write about them and also go to Shane’s debate’s with the school’s debate team. But then through the school paper, Sara met Zach Kornfeld who was doing photography. He was a short and skinny kid with big glasses on his face and braces, but he could talk quick and fast, coming up with heated insults faster that you would ever see coming.

Sara invited him to their lunch table and Ryan and Shane got along very well with him. Sara was amused to see that a kid from Shane’s debate team also joined Zach the next day at lunch. His name was Eugene and he was your stereotypical asian kid to the entire school. He had stellar grades and was on the math team, the science bowl, and the debate team. But one thing that set him apart and caused everyone whisper and gossip was that Eugene could dress better than any girl in the school. He was always coming into school with wide brimmed hats, overalls, heeled boots, and expensive and nicely made shirts. Sara ended up doing most of her mall shopping with him, begging him to help her find some sort of fashion sense.

Once the basketball season came around, Ryan brought a blonde kid to the table. His name is Ned and he wore polo shirts and sweaters with patches on the elbows and was always telling horrible jokes that had everyone groaning and laughing along. Not too shortly after Ned is introduced, he brings over his friend Ariel that literally everyone knows that they have huge crushes on each other but won’t act on it! Ariel becomes a good female friend of Sara’s and she’s super happy to have the blonde girl there to tease her cooking skills in their cooking class and also gush over her drawing skills. 

They enter high school as that cool friend group that everyone makes fun of but also wonders how they even all became friends. They were so weird and different but they all got along so well. The popular kids eventually stopped trying to call Shane gay, because he openly admitted to being bisexual. Sara was the first one to find out, Ryan being shortly after that. It wasn’t a huge deal, and Shane liked that. It was just another fact about himself, it was normal and he was glad that his friends accepted him for being himself. 

Soon after that one of the popular boys tried to take his “gay name calling” on Eugene and he shouted back across the classroom, “What’s new? Tell me something I didn’t know!” That made one of the new girls, Quinta, bust up laughing and shouting back “same honey!” Quinta was introduced to the group and added a spice that the group had never known they needed. 

Soon after Quinta was introduced, Ned met a tall kid named Keith during football practice. He was very tall, towering over everyone on the team, but he had to goofiest grin and was in the drama club with Ariel and a short girl named Jenn who liked to scream and get into fights with people much taller than herself. 

As their group got bigger and more open, Sara, Ryan, and Shane stayed together through the thick and thin. Their friends all dated each other and brought in their other girlfriends and boyfriends, but those three stayed through the thick of it all. High school was interesting for the trio, especially since Shane was openly bisexual and nobody understood what that meant. 

In reality, Shane had come to realize he was in love with both of his best friends. He was absolutely fucked and he knew it, but he couldn’t help his sweaty palms and nervousness everytime Sara got enthusiastic and would open up from the shy girl everyone but him and Ryan saw and especially when Ryan got all defensive of his ghost theories and would lay them all down for Shane to prove wrong. 

Sara was still apart of the school newspaper and going to every one of Shane’s debates and even joining his and Ryan’s joint club where they talk about History and make terrible rewrites of it with other history nerds (basically it was just a club for their huge friend group to gather and write shitty fanfiction about the founding fathers).

Ryan was the point guard for the varsity basketball team and was the best batter on the baseball team, but he always had time to go to Shane’s stupid club, and have sleepovers at Sara’s house with Shane, Eugene, and Ariel where they would all go to the mall on Friday’s and come back and have a clothing haul runway walk. Eugene always crushed them, with his heeled and studded boots and how he had gotten the art of applying lipstick down too quick to be considered normal.

It was finally their senior year and Shane was in a predicament: he got his college acceptance letter in. He hadn’t told his friends about it, because he was nervous and it had been a dream ever since he and his dad had written C.C Tinsley stories together. But it was here and he didn’t know how he was going to say goodbye to his friends, especially since he had hopeless crushes on each of them. Sara had unsurprisingly been there when Shane opened his mailbox and gaped at the letter.

“Dude you got one too?!” Sara exclaimed, her green eyes getting all wide and sparkly.

“What do you mean?” Shane asked, laughing nervously.

“Dude did you seriously forget?” She asked as Shane closed his mailbox and fingered the letter nervously.

When he didn’t respond she huffed and pulled him up into his room, already so comfortable with his house and room since they had grown up in each other’s personal spaces. Shane’s heart skipped a beat at that thought, they had been inseparable growing up and adding Ryan into their mix. Shane couldn’t describe their dynamic and how they just worked so well together. There was a spark between the three of them and it was magical, Shane could feel it in the air whenever they watched scary movies in Sara’s room, when they cooked homemade pizzas in Shane’s kitchen at three in the morning, and how Ryan told them “scary” ghost stories in his backyard as they made a fire and set up a tent. 

He didn’t want it to end.

Sara slammed the door to his bedroom shut as he plopped his bags down in the corner on his chair.

“You seriously don’t remember?” She exclaimed again.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Shane exclaimed back, starting to feel nervous.

“We all three shared out interest in going to BFU together,” Sara said, playing with her fingers like she did when she was nervous. “I thought that was a mutual agreement with all of us that we were gonna go…”

Shane let out a snort of laughter. He couldn’t believe he had allowed that to slip his mind. He had just had his revelation that he had a crush on both of his best friends and everything else seemed to turn to white noise in his mind through those last few months of freshmen year and into the summer. God, he was an asshole for forgetting that….

“I completely forgot about that.” Shane admitted.

Sara smiled a little wider, bouncing on the balls of her feet. She dug around in her own bag and pulled out her own envelope twinning with his.

“Wanna open them together?” Sara asked.

“What about—” He was just about to mention Ryan when something smacked against his window.

Shane whirled around and peered out his window to see Ryan standing below his window.

“Wanna let me in, big guy?” He called up to Shane. “I would waltz in, but this seems to be more pressing matters and deserves respect of your dad’s household rules.”

Shane grinned and ran downstairs, opening the door for Ryan and pulling him inside.

“You got a letter too, right?” Ryan asked, his grin all wide and filled with nerves.

“Yeah, Sara did too.” Shane replied as they walked down the hall to his bedroom.

They entered his room, Sara sitting there with a nervous smile. They all three sat down on the edge of his double bed, hands shaking with nerves. 

“You ready?” Ryan asked, grinning as they all had their fingers ready to rip their envelopes open. “On 3 okay? 3, 2, 1!”

The sound of paper ripping three heart beats thundering rapidly filled the quiet room. Sara scanned her eyes down the paper, taking in the first few sentences.  _ Congrats, you’ve been accepted…. _ Ryan let out a little shout, his eyes wide with surprise as he whipped his head over to see his friend’s expressions. Shane was gaping down at his, his brown eyes wide in shock. Sara let out a shout too, starting a shouting match with Ryan as they jumped up on Shane’s bed and danced together.

“Shane! Are you okay?!” Ryan exclaimed as Shane got up, re-reading it again. 

He looked up as Ryan gripped his shoulders, his eyes wide in excitement.

“We are gonna be together, big guy!”

Suddenly, it all overwhelmed Shane. Emotion poured through him in a sudden onslaught, relief being the major one. He didn’t even realize he was acting until he was gripping Ryan’s shirt and yanking him in, his lips plopping on his. Ryan squealed, but he gripped Shane’s shoulders harder and kissed back with the same enthusiasm. Sara let out a shout of victory, laughing and cheering as her friends split apart and grinned at her.

“Finally!” She exclaimed joyfully, tears welling up in her eyes.

“You,” Shane pointed at her, “get over here.” He stalked forward.

Sara’s eyes widened as Shane backed her against his wall.

“What?!” She exclaimed, the sound suddenly being quieted by Shane’s lips pressing against hers.

She closed her eyes on impact, her heart melting at the feeling of sparks bursting in her stomach. She’s pretty sure she might have moaned, but she was so overwhelmed she might have imagined it.

“What the hell, Madej?!” Sara exclaimed as he parted from her, grinning wide.

“I’ve been in love with you ever since you nervously gave me your own drawing of C.C Tinsley—”

“—not C.C!” Ryan exclaimed with a wheezing laugh.

“—If I had to be in love with Ryan’s stupid stubborn ass, I have to be in love with you two, Sara Rubin.” Shane confessed, his hand cupping her cheek tenderly.

Sara wanted to bawl her eyes out. She had always suspected that Shane had the biggest man crush on Ryan, but she had never in a million years betted that he would love her back. She grabbed the front of his shirt and smashed her lips against his again, Ryan cheering in the background.

“Yessss!” Ryan yelled.

“Oh don’t let me forget about you too, Bergara!” Sara exclaimed, pulling the boy in.

Ryan’s eyes bulged out of his head as Sara pressed a chaste kiss against his lips, same beautiful sparks spreading through her system.

The three of them just stared at each other in awe. 

“So does that mean we’re dating now? Like, can I take you two beautiful specimens out to pizza? Or do we do that too often enough and we’ve actually been dating this entire time just without the kissing and PDA?” Ryan rambled.

Sara busted up laughing, pulling the short boy in for a hug. Shane enveloped the two of his small friends in with his long arms, his heart growing in size as they all sobbed with joy.

Nothing really changed. Eugene took one look at them the next day at school and started grinning, holding his hand out to Zack who smacked a twenty in his hands.

“You should have learned, Zachary, my gaydar is quite suburb.” Eugene announced, pocketing his change.

“At that rate you would have noticed my totally gay thoughts for you then.” Zack said, smacking a hand over his mouth a second later at realizing what he said.

Quinta died of laughter at the look on Eugene’s face, holding her own hand out to Jenn.

“Pay me up, bitch!”

“Guys! Was there a bet for Ariel saying yes to my promposal?” Ned exclaimed.

“No, cause we knew you two would get married and have sex like rabbits, producing little perfect blonde babies.” Keith said sassily.

The look on Ned’s face was priceless.

Promposal’s were the rage for the next week. Eugene got asked by Zach right in the middle of the hall, Quinta actually fought someone who shouted “faggots!” at them. Ned and Ariel had already gotten theirs done with weeks ago when they found out the theme for Prom at the ASB meeting. Keith asked a girl from their drama class, a shy girl named Becky, who said yes immediately. Quinta and Jenn decided to go together as pals so they could pre-game beforehand. 

Shane stood outside of Sara’s house with a giant sign that said PROM and two sets of flowers as Sara and Ryan walked up.

“Hey I kissed you both first, I get to ask you both!”

“That’s not how this works, Madej!”

Prom came and went and soon they were standing up on a platform getting their diplomas. It was pretty much public knowledge that the three of them were exclusive, which had caused some sort of controversy with a parent, but the principal shot that lady down. Shane couldn’t believe that he was standing here, cheering for his boyfriend  _ and _ girlfriend as they got their diplomas.

Shane’s dad was a mess as he took pictures of the three of them afterwards, brandishing their diplomas.

“Dad! You good?” Shane called after his dad didn’t get an unblurry picture once again.

“I-I’m sorry, I just, I’m so proud son.” He said as tears streamed down his cheeks.

Shane untangled from his lovers arms and hesitantly placed a hand on his dad’s shoulder.

“I’m so proud of you, my boy. You look so happy with them.” He motioned at Sara and Ryan with a fond smile.

Shane blushed wrapping his arms around his dad.

“Thanks dad.”

That summer they all piled into Ryan’s jeep and road tripped to L.A. They made several stops at various locations, taking pictures, eating shitty gas station foods, and making several fond memories. One especially being the time when they had sex on top of the motel roof they were staying in near San Francisco. Sara got to sit on top of that roof, wrapped up in Shane’s long arms with Ryan on the other side snuggling into her neck, staring up at the night sky. She was glad she had the sense to bring an extra blanket so they could snuggle under the night sky a little longer before they got kicked out.

It was the roadtrip of a lifetime, they blasted music and just enjoyed themselves.

When they got to L.A they didn’t realize they would run into a psychic. It seemed logical, there were street vendor psychics that would try and jip people of their money and time for a shitty fortune, but this seemed to be the real deal. Ryan had talked them into going to a haunted house tour. Shane groaned, not wanting to waste his money on something that would just disappoint and irritate him. But the look on Ryan’s face was pure torture, Shane couldn’t say no to that stupid grin and the wide-eyed excitement in his eyes. Also Sara gave him the piercing look that dared him to break the brown eyed boy’s heart.

They ended up getting in at the last tour, an hour before the house closed up. The tour guide looks bored, her voice slightly going monotone as she leads them through the rooms. Ryan’s full attention is on the woman speaking, his head spinning around and taking in everything around him. Sara is giggling at him, holding his hand and whispering little jokes in his ear to make him laugh. But Shane is just bored. He also feel on edge, almost like someone is watching him, but he doesn’t put too much thought into that. That’s a logical thing, psychology can explain that one away. There are so many pictures up with creepy people glaring into the lens, his mind is just picking up on that, he tells himself.

Sara grabs his hand at one point, not saying anything, but giving him her concerned look. He tries to smile, for Ryan’s sake, but it looks like a grimace being pulled too tight on his face. She squeezes his hand, it feels like a promise to him.

At one point, the tour guide is talking, but as her eyes drag over the small crowd she freezes. Her eyes go comically wide, almost like Ryan’s when he thinks he’s felt a ghost touching him. Sara scrunches her brow and looks behind her, in the general direction that the lady was staring at, but there was nothing there. The lady recovered, blinking rapidly, and goes back to whatever she was saying.

“Dude, that was creepy! Do you think she got possessed or something?!”  Ryan exclaimed.

“I’m not sure,” Sara muttered, feeling goosebumps on her arms, “it looked like she saw a ghost!” She teased, grinning comically at Ryan, getting him to laugh.

Shane scrunched his brow as the woman kept stealing glances over at them throughout the remainder of the tour. As it finished and everybody filed out, the woman approached the trio, her skin pale and her eyes still wide.

“I know this is going to sound weird, but I saw something enter the room when you guys did.” She said, her blue eyes wide.

Ryan’s heart dropped and goosebumps ran up his spine, Sara sending him a concerned look. Shane crossed his long, gangly arms over his chest at stared at the woman in disbelief.

“You are skeptical, believe me I was too, but this is legit.” The woman said, her hands out in a peaceful gesture. “I can see ghosts.”

Shane let out a loud laugh.

“Yeah? And I’m Sasquatch.”

“Shane, quit it.” Sara hissed, elbowing his ribs.

“I can see all the dead residents in this house, ever since I started working here and as soon as you walked in, several different spirits followed along with you.” The woman said, biting her lip nervously. “There’s like, fifteen spirits all around you.”

“Fifteen?! Holy hell!” Ryan shrieked.

“Why fifteen? How can you see them?” Sara asked.

“You can’t be buying this bullshit, Sara!” Shane exclaimed.

“They aren’t traditional ghosts,” The woman broke off and looked at her left before turning back to them again, “The owner of this house, Mr. Abrams, says that they are mere reflections of your souls through the time your souls have been on this earth.”

“Wait, so you’re saying that our three souls have been reincarnated through time?” Sara asked, her eyes widening. “That’s so sick!”

“There are four reflections by you,” the woman pointed at Sara, “you have four,” pointed at Ryan, “and there are six with you.” She pointed to Shane lastly.

“Makes sense, you are the grumpiest grandpa of us all.” Ryan giggled.

“Shut up.” Shane said half heartedly, trying to swallow over the lump in his throat. “How can you prove it to us? And anyways, you said fifteen, you pointed out fourteen. So where’s the last one?”

“The last one is actually a ghost, she says that her name is Moira Jones.” The tour guide said.

Sara’s mind imploded. Her Aunt Moira had died when she was eight, but she hadn’t gotten to see her that often. Her mom didn’t have the best connection with her sister, so they didn’t really talk with Moira. 

“She keeps telling me that she’s meant to watch over you, Sara. She was sent here to make sure you got the peace you deserved.”

Sometimes her aunt would come and visit, always telling Sara that she was precious and most importantly she would always tell her that she deserved peace and a happy ending. She had chalked it up to her aunt regretting her past life decisions, but somehow she doubted that now. 

“H-How do you know that?” Sara whimpered.

Shane settled a protective hand on her waist, eyeing the woman a little less skeptically. He had met Sara’s aunt once before, accidentally hearing her whisper that same exact  phrase to Sara before she left. It didn’t seem odd at the time, but now it sent goosebumps down his spine.

“May I sit down with you guys and explain what I am hearing?” The woman asked. “These reflections keep trying to talk over one another, it’s really loud and disconcerting.”

“Alright.” Ryan responded for them, ignoring the look on Shane’s face.

They gathered in the large room of Mr. Abrams old study in his past days. There were several chairs all laid out, so each of them took a seat in the plush cushions.

“My name’s Wendy, I found out I can see ghosts about three months ago when I first started working here.”

“You haven’t been on the job too long,” Shane commented, “what’s kept you here? If I could magically see ghosts, I would have hightailed it out and locked myself up!”

“I used to be very skeptical of ghosts, spirits, and the like, but then I realized that I kept seeing the people who had died here and seeing their pictures on the walls. I almost didn’t come back but I couldn’t stop thinking about the sad looks on their faces. They are doomed here for eternity to watch dumbasses like ourselves tromple all over their homes and where they died.” Wendy tried to smile at them, receiving a pained look on Shane’s face. “I know it must be hard to believe me, but let me share what these reflections and Moira has to say.”

Ryan was compelled, he  believed in this stuff so this woman was legit to him. Sara had always been open minded so she allowed herself to listen to what this woman claimed. But Shane had a hard time believing in anything. Losing his mother after she had believed in him for so many years kind of broke something in his mind. He didn’t want to admit it outloud, but she was the very reason he had a hard time trusting and believing things.

“Moira says that she’s been with you for quite some time, Sara, that she became your aunt in her last stage and has stayed that way. She’s very happy to have been your aunt once again.” Wendy smiled and looked up to her left where Sara’s aunt must have been standing.

“What else is she saying? Is there a way you can tell me something only she would know?” Sara asked.

Wendy stared in the same direction for a minute or two before smiling at Sara.

“She misses drawing in her crappy kitchen with you, she says she can still remember the recipe to your favorite chocolate sprinkled brownies.”

Sara felt a tear dribble down her cheek.

“Shane, you know I agree with you on things, but this is legit.” She whispered hoarsely, “Auntie Moira was the only person who would have known that.”

Shane felt the lump in his throat grow impossibly tighter.

“She says that she has been by your side for several generations because there is a driving force that has pulled you three together. You were meant to be together, your souls have already connected before and this is the final piece in your life’s puzzle for you to rest and be at ease. She says there’s a bright future, that there will bumps along the way as there are in life, but you will not suffer anymore.” 

Wendy turned to Ryan and Sara and spoke.

“You two have four past lives that ended in horrible torment.”

“Woah what?!” Ryan exclaimed. “Every single one of m-my reflections (that’s what you called it, right? Okay) has died horribly?!!” 

“There’s a Chinese immigrant beside you that worked on the Transcontinental Railroad when he (or, really you) fell in love with a white man and were killed for it. Lee is his name, he says that’s why you hate knives.” 

Wendy turned to Shane with a scrunched brow.

“One of yours was the man, Jack was his name, he was a reporter in search of a story just like everyone else, but also he desired an escape because he knew he wasn’t attracted to women then and had to flee before people found out.”

Ryan gaped up at Shane, his eyes wide.

“Dude, this is legit, you know I have a deathly fear of knives.”

Shane stared at Wendy, still not buying it fully. She stared back, something flashing behind her eyes.

“You have nightmares, Shane. The Viking standing to your left just told me and he says that your mother always tried to reassure you when you woke up from them. She used to come into your room to check up on you, the only person knowing that you suffered with this. But then she left you, alone in the dark and suddenly she joined the nightmares. It’s a terror that used to haunt you as a child and into your teen years. You could never explain it so you never talked about it.

“The Viking, Rolf, was cut across the throat like in your nightmares he says.” Shane feels all the blood in his blood leave and shoot out of his body.

“But it continues and then you are burned alive, William the farm boy, to your right, tells me that that was his fate. Then you’re head is chopped clean off and as your head rolls you can still see the angry crowd of onlookers screaming insults at you; that was Charles, he’s standing directly behind you. Then you are stabbed in the gut holding the hand of the man you love and toppling into the dark abyss where you are trying to save a soldier in need and then you are shot clean through the chest. Those two are Jack and Howard, they are kindred spirits so it seems and like to crack jokes. They are standing with Sara’s reflections.” Wendy finished, smiling over Shane’s head at one of them.

“William tells me that the other reflection, Antonio doesn’t like to speak much and is standing in the corner studying one of Mr. Abrams paintings. He was a Renaissance artist but he was stabbed for being in the middle of an orgie, one of the girls being a married woman and her husband became jealous and stabbed them all to death.” Wendy grimaced. “That’s a pretty traumatizing why to go out…”

Shane’s eyes were wide and it felt like he wasn’t breathing.

“When you were little, Jack absolutely loved reading your writing about C.C Tinsley.” Wendy says with a grin over near Sara.

Shane’s mind short-circuits. No one knows about C.C Tinsley….

“Shane? Are you okay?” Sara asked, nudging his knee as he came back into himself.

He had tears in his eyes as he stared at Wendy.

“I believe you….” he muttered, and that was enough for Sara to believe in this woman.

“Tell us everything.” Ryan demanded.

“Ronnat,” Wendy said as she looked over Sara’s right shoulder. “She keeps smiling over at Rolf, she was born in Ireland in the 8th century and captured and turned into a Viking warrior. She is correcting me harshly, saying that she is basically you, she’s here for that very reason because it  _ is _ your soul that was in her body.”

“Woooaaah.” Sara whispered in awe.

“Then you were Margaret Shawe, a witch in the fifteenth century England. She is staring out the window right now with William, she loves the flowers out on the window sill. She says for me to tell you that she absolutely loves your drawings and wishes she could add her own doodles with yours.”

“Duuuude I have witches blood then, right?!” Sara exclaimed.

“In a sense, yes,” Wendy chuckled. “But then you were the daughter of aristocratic leaders in Paris, France, Perrette Beaufay. She is standing with Olivier, one of Ryan’s reflections, to your far right. They really love each other.”

Ryan laughed as Sara wriggled her eyebrows at that.

“Then you were the defensive young nurse stationed at Pearl Harbor, Kathryn Smith.” W endy smiled sadly. “Kathryn is always sad, yet she tries not to be. She died so unhappy, killing herself in her bathtub because she didn’t have Howard, or Ryan’s last reflection, Henry with her. Henry says that they didn’t have that long together and that it really destroyed her so now she’s stuck in this mental state of loss, kind of like how ghosts do sometimes.”

“These are all your identities, Sara, a piece of their reflections has created you today. You took Ronnat’s strength, Margaret’s innocence, Perrette’s curiosity and open mind, and Kathryn’s defensive nature. As you were each of these identities, you suffered quite a lot, Moira says.”

Wendy frowned, a tear gliding down her face.

“Moira was also your aunt when you were Margaret, back in England when you were orphaned after accidentally killing your parents in a house fire. She says that she gave her life to watch out for the rest of your legacy. She had had a vision of your future, seen each of your identities before they happened, and swore to lead you into the next one with peace.”

Sara was solemn and quiet, goosebumps going up her spine at the thought of her Aunt, her sad aunt who died alone spent her whole eternity to see her own life through.

“You met Shane in your first life, his name was Rolf and he taught you the tender, kindness of how a man is supposed to treat a woman. Even though he was married, you two were very fond of each other and supported each other in battle.” Wendy looked over at Shane this time. “You died in her arms, like in your nightmares and Ronnat tried to get your body back to Norway but she was thrown overboard when a storm struck.”

“I’m deathly afraid of water!” Sara exclaimed. “I died drowning?!”

“Yes, and when you were born into your second life as Margaret, you screamed when the priest tried to baptise you. So everyone thought you were some demonic baby, but really you had just drowned and been born again, afraid of the thing that had killed you in the last life.”

“Oh shit!” Ryan wheezed. “You were a demon baby!”

Sara laughed, shoving Ryan’s shoulder playfully.

“Your father tried to force you to get over your fear, and in return you got mad and accidentally burned them alive in your nursery. Your Aunt Euphemia took you in, she herself a witch who trained you to hide your power and help her make herbs and healing spells in her cottage in the countryside of London. There you fell in love with Shane again, this time as William.”

“Farm boy!” Sara teased, referencing their favorite movie of all time.

“Grab me that pitcher, farm boy.” Ryan mocked, using a terrible british accent.

Shane chuckled, trying to listen to Wendy.

“People suspected Euphemia and arrested her, taking in the two of you for questioning. The case was flipped around and accusing Margaret when William stood up and took the blame, sentencing the three of you to just get rid of the situation. You three died at the stake, burned alive.” Wendy said in sympathy.

“Oh shit…” Ryan muttered.

“Shane, you were born into the next life as Antonio, an artist in Italy during the renaissance. There you fell in love with Ryan as Centio, a model for your work. And when I say work, I really mean you painted him nude and had a lot of sex and orgies, like I said before.” Wendy said bluntly.

“Oh shit!” Ryan exclaimed, wheezing and laughing.

“I think that’s the best death yet!” Sara said with a laugh as well.

“Sara you were born into your next life as Perrette Beaufay where you were raised to be the perfect french daughter, marry a rich aristocrat such as yourself, and keep producing heirs. As a young child you became friends with one of the servant’s children, Ryan as Olivier. You became the best of friends, slowly falling in love with one another as Perrette was engaged to Shane as Charles. The three of you became aware of your feelings for each other and lived in the family estate together, hiding out from the angry common folk. Charles was in love with Perrette, and her in return as she felt for Olivier as well, but the two men never had the time to bond together and really fall in love. But Charles and Perrette were beheaded and their son Theodore was left behind for Olivier to care for until his unexplainable death twenty years later.”

“Goodness, this is like mini novels all compiled into one!” Sara exclaimed.

“I believe your last life was the saddest one, Sara.” Wendy muttered, “You were born into a life where you were afraid and tormented by nightmares of your past life as Ronnat, so you became afraid and angry towards men. You met Shane in the form of Howard Stanley, a kind hearted soldier who was able to prove himself to you in the end, but he died protecting his comrades during the Pearl Harbor raid.

“You met Ryan as a local islander named Henry, a barman who showed sympathy to your pain and listened to you speak your mind. He was absolutely in love with you, but from the sidelines as you fell for Howard. Ryan was killed as he was trying to help some kids duck and cover from a collapsing building where he got crushed under.

“Their deaths shook you to your core, Sara, and you were never the same. You were alone now because these two kind men were the only exceptions and you couldn’t handle it. You slit your wrists months later in your roommates bathtub, dying before your roommate, Gladys, could do anything to save you.” Wendy finished.

The trio sat there in stunned silence.

“I was compelled to tell you this because your aunt was a spirit guide for you. She was by your side as you burned at the stake, she was an onlooker in the crowd who held your hand as your head was chopped at the guillotine, and then she was your roommate Gladys who took care of you through all the ups and downs of your sad life as Kathryn. 

“She compelled me to tell you three that your legacy is over. You don’t have to suffer, because you have all found each other, fallen in love, and allowed your souls to intertwine with no care in the world. She wanted me to tell you, Sara, that you were strong and steady in each lifetime and that you deserve the love, peace, and happiness that you will get from these two souls who have suffered as well to be with you in the end.”

Sara was crying, full on sobbing, as Wendy finished. Her heart felt full as Shane rubbed her back and Ryan held her hand tenderly.

“I want to th-thank her.” Sara cried.

“ She says that you are welcome and that she can rest now that you finally have all the pieces of the puzzle in order.” Wendy said, smiling as her own tears fell down her cheeks.

“Thank you so much, Wendy.” Sara thanked the woman, hugging her tightly.

Sara looked back on that night with a fondness. She could see it now, all of her identities in the image she saw in the mirror before her. She could see the blunt strength in the set of her shoulders that had set a fire to Ronnat’s life mission, she had the whimsical smile and imagination as Margaret, she loved her boys as tenderly and lived her life as curiously as Perrette had wanted to, and she stood up for the people she loved in the same bold way Kathryn did.

Her soul was old and strong, it had fallen in love, gotten trampled and broken apart, and mended back together five separate times and she was still alive today to love her two amazing boys. Life had a weird sense of humor with her so far.


End file.
